


The Light in the Shadows

by katya1828



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Brother Amenadiel (Lucifer TV), Case Fic, Demons, Depowered Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Devil Reveal, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Whump, M/M, POV Chloe Decker, POV Lucifer, Protective Amenadiel (Lucifer TV), Rape/Non-con Elements, Rituals, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katya1828/pseuds/katya1828
Summary: After Lucifer submits to ravishment by a demon during what he believed was a sexy dream, he wakes up after feeling rough and with his powers diminished. His day gets worse when he confirms the succubus was not only real, but also responsible for the deaths of a rising number of humans. Moreover, its appearance in LA has something to do with his current rival for the Detective’s affection, Marcus Pierce.Lucifer resolves to do everything in his power to stop the demon killer. Even if it means pushing the Detective away in order to protect her, and offering himself up as the demon’s favourite dish…Set in an AU s3, with small s3 spoilers. Please see notes for details on the warnings, and also KalChloe1's linked fic.  Main pairing here is Deckerstar (eventually!!)
Relationships: Amenadiel & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Marcus Pierce, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)/Original Character(s), Lucifer Morningstar/Marcus Pierce
Comments: 167
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KalChloe1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalChloe1/gifts), [Kymera219](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymera219/gifts).



> Okay, this started as crack, but then I wrote it straight and it turned way darker than I ever intended. Hence the warnings for dub-con and a short scene of non-con (all courtesy of the succubus.) Other than the male demon/Lucifer, there is no slash in this fic. It moves toward a Deckerstar ending, plus there’s various scenes of Lucifer/Amenadiel h/c. There’s no Piercifer, other than Lucifer and Pierce bickering and fighting over Chloe. 
> 
> KalChloe1, to whom I’ve gifted this fic, has written some much more detailed backstory about Pierce and the demon. Both my fic and hers can be read without knowledge of the other. She also made the awesome banner for my fic :)

It started as a bloody good dream. Mildly alarming to some extent, but overall hot.

When the winged creature alighted at the foot of his bed, Lucifer’s first recourse was to swear at it. He blinked blearily into the dim light as he tried to figure out which of his annoying siblings was pestering him.

A few fleeting heartbeats later, he’d figured this was no angel. The wings were wrong, shaped more like his devil wings, though thin and translucent, like a black gossamer web. The face was odd, convincing Lucifer this _had_ to be a dream. The features were blurred, seeping in and out of focus. What he did see refused to stick in his mind. It was neither male nor female, young nor old, the charcoal grey skin like an ancient rock washed smooth by the sands of time.

Lucifer scanned down the creature’s squatting body, which was roughly human-shaped save the wings, though equally indistinct. His gaze alighted on its loins.

They were clear enough—huge, male, erect.

Ah, so _that_ was where this dream was going… and why not?

Lucifer was certainly sex starved right now. Big Ben had bonged a paltry five times that evening, before he’d had an early night at 2 am. And it was a Saturday. Since the Detective began dating Lieutenant Pierce—a whole seventy-six hours ago and counting—Lucifer’s libido had plummeted shamefully. Clearly, his subconscious yearned to put matters to rights, and that enormous phallus looked like the best sort of distraction. Fun, fun, fun.

Lucifer went to lick his lips, which was when he realized he couldn’t move a muscle. Shit. Once of _those_ annoying dreams. Apprehension shimmered faintly through his veins then faded. He grew ever more entranced by the creature advancing toward him. Its veiny wings spread seven-foot wide. It crawled up the bed, arching over him on all fours, like a tiger ready to pounce. Its body, larger than even his, took on a more distinct shape—huge and brawny with knotted muscle; overtly masculine while strangely hairless. It’s eyes glowed, twin neon-blue globes of light.

_Hmmm. Most definitely some form a demon_. _Shouldn’t these bastards do what I say rather than root me to the spot?_

Deep inside Lucifer, the primal power of an archangel tremored, readying to unleash. If he truly desired it, he could and would rid himself of this lesser being that’d selected him as its prey.

Yet… despite the lucidity of his mind, he remained fairly sure this _was_ a dream. His subconscious must’ve conjured this thing. If his subconscious hankered for a good demonic ravishment, so be it. Despite his paralysis, the approach of the creatures ignited a myriad of pleasurable sensations. Heat radiated from the creature’s rock-hard torso, which now pressed down upon him, crushing the air from his lungs so his breathing came up short.

He still couldn’t gauge its features. He was too enraptured by the friction of its flesh against his. He vaguely registered a thin red mouth, which split apart. A snake-like forked tongue thrust out and plunged between his own parted lips, roughly plundering. Talons scraped along his bare chest, his naked flanks, igniting intense sensations that inched toward pain. An acrid stench filled his nostrils and caught in his throat, unpleasant and sulphurous, like the reek of bad eggs. He couldn’t focus long enough to place it, because the demon started to sing.

At first, it emitted an eerie high-pitched wail, piercing Lucifer’s skull as if he’d stuck his ear next to a police siren. The voice then dipped to a soothing, deep baritone, and a lilting melody that moved in time with the rough thrusts of the creature’s powerful body against his.

Lucifer strained, wishing to buck and writhe against his unwonted lover, to set some kind of rhythm and increase the friction against own arousal. His dream forbade him. He was utterly helpless. Tonight, so it seemed, his subconscious needed him to receive...

So, with Lucifer desperate and willing, the creature claimed him.

***

Despite all Chloe’s mounting experience, there was something about this particular crime scene that unsettled her more than usual.

The churning in her gut hadn’t been triggered by blood and gore. The corpses, a man and woman in their early-to-mid thirties, had no sign of injury save some light scratching on their arms and legs and the man’s bare chest. Ella and the rest of the forensics team crawled all over the area where the half-dressed couple had been found—a beauty spot in the hills overlooking LA. Yet nobody had yet figured out if this was actually a murder scene, an accident, or a joint suicide pact. Nevertheless, from the moment she climbed out of her car, she felt that something—an ill-defined, excruciating _something—_ was horribly wrong. And what was that weird, musty smell?

On the other hand, maybe she felt unsettled because she simply didn’t want to be here. She’d been due to meet Marcus Pierce, her boyfriend of a whole four days, for some _al fresco_ brunch. At least dating her boss meant she wouldn’t have to worry about explaining herself, though she’d been looking forward to their little rendezvous. Being with Marcus took her mind off Lucifer… and her feelings for Lucifer right now?

Since his selfish actions during the Sinnerman case, her sentiments toward Lucifer had been way too angry and intense. She’d been furious at how he’d betrayed her, and he wasn’t happy at all about her dating Marcus Pierce.

Though Lucifer had no right to be mad. No right at all. She only wished his displeasure didn’t make her so… sad.

She mentally shook herself back to the present, before going in to start asking questions. The corpses lay on the turf as if they were sunbathing or sleeping. Their hair and skin shimmered under the bright spring sunshine, which counteracted any onset of deathly pallor. Doubtless _that_ was the weirdness that pushed her off-kilter. She wound her way over to where Ella kneeled by the female cadaver.

“Hey, Decker.” Ella waved one of her latex-clad hands in greeting. “Before you ask, I’m afraid the answer is na-da.”

“Na-da?”

“Zero, zilch, zip, nil, naught.” Ella wrinkled her nose apologetically. “We’ve not a clue how these two died, not an inkling if anybody else was involved. Right now, I’m thinking a double drug overdose, but there’s no sign of needle use on either of the bodies. Whatever deadly candies they took must’ve been ingested orally.”

“What about those scratches?” Chloe pointed to the red markings on the woman’s bronzed arms and legs.

“Not sure yet. Could’ve been an animal, or maybe these two just enjoyed a good ol’ last roll in a particularly scratchy patch of heather.” Ella’s grin faded and she shook her head. “Boy, I hope it was a good one.”

“Any idea what the weird smell is?”

“Uh, most like _bodies_ , Decker. Not that these poor dudes have been here long enough to get too juicy.”

“No, not that. It’s more like… I don’t know, I can’t place it. Some drug or chemical, perhaps. It’s kind of… I dunno, eggy?”

Ella sniffed then frowned. “Can’t smell anything myself. I’ll ask the others in a mo’. I had a bit of a cold the other week, so I could be off my game in the sniff department.”

“Uh, huh.” Chloe strove to keep her focus on Ella and the bodies, which suddenly proved difficult.

Lucifer had pulled his Corvette up behind the victim’s car—a lurid green Ford GT—and was climbing out. He wore shades, which was rare for him. His light grey suit was rumpled and lacking the usual neatly placed handkerchief. He swayed slightly as he lurched toward her.

_Oh great._ _He’s hungover. Or very possibly still drunk._

“We’ll know more when we’ve had the ME’s report and I’ve run some tests in the lab,” Ella was saying. “But unless something big turns up, I don’t think it’s going to be a homicide investigation. You might as well get back to whatever plans you’d got for the day.” Ella waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I hope our call didn’t interrupt anything between you and the boss, huh? A little Sunday morning lie-in for the new-some two-some?”

“I was at home with Trixie.” Chloe shot Ella a pointed look, glad that she dropped the topic before Lucifer closed in behind her.

“Morning Detective, Miss Lopez. Well, this _is_ a tragedy. How could _that_ clueless now-dead gentleman take out _that_ beautiful now-dead young lady in that criminally mushroom-coloured sports jacket—” Lucifer pointed to the pile of discarded clothing—"Let alone in that awful vomit-green car that I’ve been forced to park beside. I’m assuming _that’s_ the crime?”

“Lucifer,” said Chloe coldly, “now is not a good time for your so-called humour.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard the speech before. This is a crime scene. Show some respect.” He massaged his temples wearily. She blinked, shocked, at how quickly he’d crumpled beneath her reproach. “I’m sorry, Detective. I’m not feeling too great this morning. I, uh… actually, I’m feeling a bit unwell.”

He reeled dizzily. Chloe reached out and grabbed his arm, steadying him.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” He gave a thin smile and placed his hand over hers. Chloe wished he wasn’t wearing shades. She needed to see him properly, to check if he really was—or wasn’t—okay, both with his health and with her.

She hated this tension between them. Way more than she ought. She despaired also at the pang in her chest, when he lifted his hand from hers.

“You should go home.” She squeezed him and pulled away. “There’s no strong evidence this was a homicide yet, so you might as well go back to bed.”

“I’m sure I’ll perk up, Detec—” Lucifer inhaled sharply, half-choked, then staggered again. He raked his less-perfect-than-usual hair, so it stuck out at eclectic angles.

“Lucifer? You sure you’re okay?” Ella’s tone echoed Chloe’s concern for him.

“It’s nothing,” he said, snappily. “Just be careful what you poke at here, Miss Lopez.”

“Yeah, always.”

Lucifer’s features hardened into a glower no shades could conceal. Looking over her shoulder, Chloe saw why. Marcus Pierce ducked beneath the tape that surrounded the crime scene, then strode toward them. He wore leather biker’s trousers and a tight-fitting t-shirt that showed off _those_ buff arms to perfection.

“What we got?” He offered Chloe a slight, secret smile, that made her feel… happy and screwed up all at once.

She wanted to enjoy this, to savour the attentions of this gorgeous, sensible, upstanding guy, who was clearly into her, and she into him. She couldn’t. Not with Lucifer standing beside her, all rigid and tense and oozing jealousy from his every pore. She smothered a groan of frustration.

She wished Lucifer didn’t matter to her so damned much.

***

With the approach of Marcus Pierce, Lucifer’s nagging headache, which had dogged him since he’d awoken that morning, took a decided turn for the worst.

The way Pierce raked his gooey eyes all over the Detective, who hadn’t even seen him yet, made Lucifer want to punch the Lieutenant’s lights out. Not least because he knew—he bloody well _knew_ —the bastard, _Cain_ , didn’t care for her as he ought and was only interested in her on the off-chance her affections finally allowed him to die. Sadly, Lucifer had to control himself, and not only because kicking the shit out of Pierce would _not_ improve his relations with the Detective.

No, there was another reason Lucifer strove to rein in his temper. He suspected there was a link between his rough night—which he increasingly suspected had _not_ been a dream—and the death of the dubiously attired young man and his pretty beau, who lay at their feet. What’s more, he was interested in how Marcus Pierce might react when the gentle spring breeze wafted the distinctive scent of this apparently crimeless crime-scene in his direction. The acrid, sulphurous odour was so slight it doubtless didn’t register with normal humans—with those who’d never encountered anything otherworldly. Or anything demonic.

Beneath his shades, Lucifer narrowed his eyes, and… Aha! There it was. Marcus inhaled sharply. Horror flashed across his features for the briefest moment, before he schooled his gaze back onto the Detective and flashed a simpering grin. He then demanded, monotonically, “What we got?”

“A beautiful woman and an appallingly-attired man, whose sexual chemistry is low even for corpses.” Lucifer proffered a bitchy smile before waggling a finger at the bodies. “Oh, and these two poor late sweethearts.”

Marcus squared up in front of Lucifer, hands on hips. “You got a problem, Lucifer?”

“Apart from your unsightly presence, not at all,” bitched Lucifer. “I’m here to give you my unique insight. Take it or leave it.”

“Oh, I’d be most happy for _you_ to leave—"

“Guys, guys,” interrupted Ella. “Before you two get physical, look, I got something! Check out _this_ for a diva-nail!” She held aloft a curving, demonic-looking claw, of a creamy hue and at least an inch and a half long. “Can’t see this belonging to either of the vics.” She picked up the woman’s hand; she’d had perfectly manicured coral-pink nails, and both sets of nails remained in situ. “ _Could_ be an animal claw, but it also could place somebody else here, or maybe explain those weird scratches on the bodies. Might make this a proper crime scene.”

From the corner of his eye, Lucifer saw Pierce curse beneath his breath. “You _know_ what that is, don’t you,” murmured Lucifer.

“I’ve not a clue,” announced Pierce loudly. “Lopez, see if you can lift prints or DNA or anything off that nail. Send me a report when the forensics are done. I still reckon this is case for narcotics, not us. Decker, you and I—” His cell bleeped. When he read his message, his brows shot skyward. 

“Decker,” he said, “change of plan. We’ve had three more bodies turn up, in a hotel about a mile from here. Similar spec—no sign of struggle or injury beyond some scratches on the bodies. No obvious drugs paraphernalia, just stone dead.”

Lucifer’s blood jumped. This was even more serious than he’d suspected; serious enough to put his rivalry with Pierce on a backburner for now. If there was a demon wreaking havoc in LA—other than Maze on one of her benders, of course—he needed to be on it.

“I’ll meet you there,” he said.

“No.” Pierce rounded on him, arms folded in that annoying way that emphasized his OTT biceps. “That’s an order, Lucifer, as your superior. You look ill, go home.”

“I don’t get ill.”

“Seriously, you do look like you need a rest,” said the Detective. She sounded a bit pissed off, likely still smarting from his jibe about Pierce’s clothes and lack of sex appeal. “We can handle this one without you. I’ll fill you in later.”

Her gentle pat on his shoulder diffused his anger slightly. He gave an abrupt nod of agreement, though his U-turn was nothing to do with the Detective’s plea.

It’d dawned on him that the perpetrator of this crime was best caught without her at his side. Yes, she was good at catching bad guys, but the last thing he wanted was to endanger her. If he could nix it without her, he would. After all, it’d managed to attack him in his own bed last night, fooling him into thinking it was a dream, despite all his devilish awe. And when it got up close and personal with humans, the consequences seemed clear enough. 

Those humans died.

He watched the Detective go. When Pierce slid his arm around her, guiding him to his car, Lucifer yearned to tear that overly-pumped limb off. He’d turn all his attention to winning her back—or, at least, breaking her and Pierce up—as soon as he’d solved this current crisis.

He pulled out his cell-phone and called the only emergency service of any use right now.

Maze answered after five rings. “What?” He could hear screams in the background, which might have been of agony or pleasure; it was hard to tell.

“We’ve got a stray demon,” said Lucifer. “Most likely a sex demon. No idea how or when it slipped out, but it’s killing humans, so we need to get hunting. And, I… uh, might have accidently slept with it last night.”

“Good work.” Maze sounded impressed. “When we catch it, it’s my turn next.”


	2. Chapter 2

Maze stalked around the edge of the yellow crime-scene tape. She twitched her nose like a kitten that’d caught its first whiff of smoked salmon.

Even Lucifer had to admit her blatant glee was a tad inappropriate, what with the two deceased humans littered before her. He retreated to lean against his car, smoking a cigarette, watching the forensic and ME teams bustle. Maze soon sauntered back toward him to give her verdict, which he was certain would validate his own.

“This is sweeeet.” Maze lounged back against the bonnet beside him. “But weird. This whole place reeks of demon, but it doesn’t smell quite like Hell, at least no part I recognise. Whenever this thing escaped, it was one heck of a long time ago.” She elbowed Lucifer chummily in the stomach; he bit back a wince. “So, how was it in the sack?”

“I had fun,” he said. “Well, sort of. I’ll admit, I’m a _bit_ off-form this morning.”

“Kudos to the demon! I can’t wait to meet this thing.” Admiration sparkled in her eyes. “It liked it rough, huh?”

“Yes. But...”

Lucifer stubbed out his cigarette. Sex wasn’t usually this complicated to talk about, plus he was starting to feel desperate to get out of the sun, which baked him hotter by the second.

“There’s a but?” prompted Maze. “Other than your naked butt getting a good pummelling, obviously.”

He dabbed his brow. “It wasn’t just sex. There was a lot of… _sucking_ going on.”

“And that’s bad how exactly?”

“I honestly believed it was a dream, and I was in the mood, so I went with it. However, feeling the consequences is not very _me_ , even after the roughest kind of bum fun. And I appear to have…” He cringed at the humiliation. “A hangover.”

“Nah,” said Maze. “That’s definitely not very you. Funny, though.”

He huffed, unamused, then pressed on. “My predicament strongly suggests not only that it wasn’t a dream, but that I let a sex demon have a good old suck at… not just at my fun parts, but also at my power and immortality. And if it can even slightly damage me, what do _you_ reckon the very same demon could do to humans?” He gestured theatrically at the crime scene.

“Are you telling me we’ve got a kickass super-powerful sex demon lose in LA?” Maze bashed one fist against the car, unable to contain her delight. Lucifer winced again. He’d rather she hit him than dented the bonnet, but it seemed okay. “Woh, these guys are rare! Plus, they don’t usually totally wipe out their prey. They have a little slurp at the life-force maybe, and then get into the business of creating little half-demon spawn before skulking back to Hell. This one must be a biggie. What is it that humans call them?”

“Oh, you know humans, they get so binary about everything. According to their crude categorisation, incubi enjoy sex and nibbles with women; succubae roll in the hay with men. Given the broad spectrum of its latest meal, this one clearly possesses an admirable disregard for traditional gender divides. So, I say we should think of it as an omnibus.” He snorted, wryly amused. “I got ridden by an omnibus last night, which is a first. Though I’ve had plenty of rides _on_ omnibuses, back in the day when they were _de rigour_.”

For a brief hiatus, he enjoyed misty memories of his first private-hire omnibus ride through a starlit 1890s London. What a night, packed on that little rocking vehicle with Oscar Wilde, Lillie Langtry, and the better-looking half of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club…

The sight of the first of the bodies being wheeled up on to the ME’s van shook him back to the present. This demon was killing humans. It was his duty to bring it down. If he’d had his devil face, the ferocity of his intent would’ve flashed in his eyes. “How do we hunt this thing, Maze?”

“Fun though that sounds, I don’t think we need to.” She shrugged, casual as ever. “It had a binge-fest last night, but I’ll bet I know where it had its tastiest meal.” She spiralled her forefinger toward his chest and jabbed him. “It’s gonna come back for more of _this_ , right? We just wait for it to come to us.”

“Naturally.” Lucifer blinked beneath his shades; it was so simple and obvious. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He _had_ to be off-form, but no matter. “I just need to go home and offer up a delicious all-it-can-eat sex-buffet of _me_.”

“Then I leap out and stab it with a demon blade.” Maze whirled toward him, this time miming the jab of her knife into Lucifer’s stomach, her clenched fish impacting with a crunch. He wished she’d stop bashing him while he was so below par. The reminder that the incu... succu… _om_ nibus had dared damage _him,_ fired him all up more.

“You can hang around if you like, Maze, but you won’t be needed.”

The ME’s assistant now wheeled the gurney containing the second dead human in the van. Lucifer frowned with cold fury. If the Detective had already arrived at a similar crime scene, she would be asked to go after this thing. _His_ Detective, who was currently displaying an appalling lack of discernment with her bed partners. He couldn’t allow it to harm her.

“It caught me unawares last night,” he said darkly. “Won’t happen again. I’m looking forward to handling this vile piece of work myself.”

***

_Sunday afternoon_

“Ella, what we got?”

Chloe slid into the lab, striving to keep her mind on work. This grew more and more difficult.

She was dating her boss. Her hot, gorgeous boss. And Lucifer was jealous, or maybe just pissed off about it, but he’d have to deal, because her relationship with Marcus was not about _him_. Lucifer had been at his narcissistic worst lately, and as she kept reminding herself, he’d betrayed her during the Sinnerman case. So why did Lucifer being unhappy bother her so much?

She had to be professional; she had to deal somehow. After all, she’d just come from her second crime scene of the day, and it appeared they’d got a serial killer on their hands. Moreover, she had to concentrate on what Ella was saying, because the poor woman had been speaking for a good minute, while Chloe hadn’t taken in a word.

“Could you run through that again?” said Chloe, feigning confusion.

“I know, right? It’s mind-blowing!” Ella, who wore a t-shirt with a roly-poly bunny gorging itself chocolate eggs, seemed even more psyched than usual. “This talon is real.” She waved a plastic evidence bag containing said talon. “It’s not from any animal we know, and the traces of cuticle look _kind_ of human. But not quite. So, I sent it for a high-priority DNA test and… it blew the machines. Simply _blew_ them! Sent out a long garble of text that makes no sense at all. The techs are going to try running the test again, but they’re super freaked out about it.”

“We found a similar nail at the second crime scene,” said Chloe thoughtfully. “I think it’s a kind of calling card. Part of the killer’s M.O.”

“Oh my God, there’s another one?” Ella bounced on her toes. “Whatever these babies are, they’re new to science. So, so excit—”

“Hey, guys.” Dan stuck his head into the lab. “Sorry to barge in, but we might have got a few more leads.”

“Anything for me?” asked Ella.

“Got the ME’s preliminary findings on the first and second sets of bodies for you.” Dan tossed a thin paper file onto the table. “All the victims had recently had sex with each other. Possibly with the killer too, although we won’t know for sure until more DNA tests come back.”

“More gobbledegook?” Ella shared a wide-eyed look with Chloe.

“Eh?” Dan looked confused.

“I’ll explain later,” said Chloe. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” He dangled another plastic evidence bag, this one containing a mobile phone. “The female victim at the second crime scene sent a text to her bestie at 2.57 am. It seems to suggest any sexual congress between the perpetrator and their victims had been consensual.”

“How?” asked Ella.

He showed them the cell’s screen. It read. _“OMG BEST ORGIE EVER!!!!!”_

“Sounds like they were up for it,” Ella sighed. “Poor guys. One moment, all jiggy and happy, next moment… God, I hope it was quick. Not the sex, the death bit I mean.” She cringed. “I’m not making this better for myself, am I?”

“No,” said Dan.

“Keep up the good work,” said Chloe. “The second nail…talon… whatever, should be on its way to you any minute. Hopefully we’ll get some proper DNA results back this time.”

Out in the office, Dan had been working on their only other lead, some grainy CCTV footage, which he’d opened up on his laptop. When Chloe reached his desk, he’d got it paused on an ill-focussed single frame.

“Okay, so this is from the camera at the entrance of the hotel where the second set of victims were found. The times of death are estimated to be between 3am and 4am. The doors were locked, and the night porter didn’t let anybody in after 1.20 am.” He pointed to a third-storey window. “That’s the room where the bodies were found. Now look at this.” He pressed play on the footage, and Chloe stretched her eyes wide. He rewound and played it again, compelling her to believe what she saw. A large figure, enveloped beneath what appeared to be a flowing cloak divided into two separate parts, landed on the windowsill of the victims’ room, opened it, and climbed in.

“What are we looking at?” she breathed.

“My only theory is that the suspect must’ve jumped from a neighbouring building. It’s suicidal and risky, but the most plausible explanation. We’re already canvassing nearby apartments, checking any other CCTV. Hopefully somebody saw or heard something.”

Okay, Chloe could deal with that. No matter that it looked for all the world like the suspect soared in like a bat or a flying squirrel. _That_ wasn’t possible.

Dan’s explanation was far more plausible. Kind of. “It’s a shame we can’t get a better visual on the suspect,” he was saying. “Right now, I’ve nicknamed him “Flying Squirrel Man,” ’cos it’s most likely a male. He’s gotta be, what six-foot-two at least? Probably more.”

“Good work, Detective Espinoza.” At the rumble of Pierce’s deep voice, Chloe’s pulse skittered, oddly nervy. He slid a hand across the small of her back. It was… nice. She turned, and his smile was kindly. “So, we’re looking for someone as big as me, huh?”

“You got an alibi for between 2am and 4am this morning?” asked Dan, jokily. “Or, uh, wings?”

“Sadly, no.” Pierce’s gaze lingered warmly on Chloe, before he flicked it to where Lucifer had just entered the office, and it hardened like flint. “But I’m not the only giant in this department,” he said. “Has _he_ got an alibi? You might also like to ask him if he has wings.”

Like Dan, Pierce was apparently joking, but an aggression underpinned his words, which made Chloe uncomfortable. Lucifer blessed Pierce with an equally belligerent scowl, then smiled tightly at Chloe. “Detective, a word in private?”

“I thought you were taking the day off… but, okay, yeah.” She let Lucifer lead her aside, his hand replacing Pierce’s at her back. She wondered at the pleasant tingling Lucifer’s closeness evoked in her, before dismissing it, and turning about to shake him off. Pierce’s glower drilled ever harder into both of them. “What is it, Lucifer?”

“If I was to tell you to back off on this one, that I’ve got it covered, would you heed my advice?”

“If you’ve got any information about this case you’re not sharing,” she said loudly, “now would be a very good time to come forward with it.”

He huffed, weary and exasperated. Up close, she could see his was still a mess, his complexion waxy, his hair ruffled, and his attire less perfect that usual. She fought back her softer, more maternal instincts toward him. She couldn’t let him ride rough-shot over her feelings or police processes yet again.

“Fine. Have it your way, Detective.” Lucifer turned back to where Dan and Marcus had put their heads together over the CCTV footage. “Lieutenant, I think you are the best qualified individual to hear anything else I’ve got to say.”

He strode off toward Marcus’s private office. Marcus followed, leaving Chloe bewildered. She wished she didn’t feel so strongly toward Lucifer, because he clearly thought very little of her advice right now, let alone her.

And why, when she’d the attentions of Marcus Pierce to cheer her, did his apparent eternal selfishness still hurt so much?

***

The instant the door closed behind them, Lucifer seized Pierce by the collar and rammed him back against the wall. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

Pierce snarled, shoving Lucifer away with a force that surprised him, sending him smashing back into the desk. Although his headache had faded, he must still have been suffering the after-effects of the “omnibus’s” attentions. Pierce’s puny human strength shouldn’t have had such an impact.

“You could say it’s an old friend,” muttered Pierce.

“You’ve met this thing before?” Lucifer recovered himself fast, straightening to his full height.

Pierce sat down in his chair on the desk’s far side, tenting his hands. “So it’s your business how exactly?”

“Because it’s a demon and it’s killing humans. Because people I care about are out there looking for it and they could get hurt.” Lucifer thudded both his fists onto the work surface then leaned forward menacingly. Marcus made the mistake of meeting his eye and Lucifer captured his gaze and held it. “Tell me what you know, _Cain_. You know you want to.”

He leaned ever closer, exposing his teeth and the whites of his eyes in a leering smile. Marcus surrendered to his allure, and the truth spilled forth. “Okay, it was me. I raised the demon. But, it was a mistake… and one heck of a long time ago.”

Lucifer perched on the edge of the desk, draining the contents of his whisky flask, as Marcus poured out his sorry tale. Cain, so he said, had conjured the demon using a hocus pocus ritual, at some point during the fourteenth century.

“I was already beyond desperate to die,” he said. “I performed various rituals at least a hundred times over a space of at least fifty years before anything even worked.”

“Fourteenth Century, you say?” Lucifer had emptied his flask, so he licked the taste of whisky from his lips as he mulled the matter over. “I didn’t bother escaping from Hell much around then. Frankly, Earth was way worse—Black Death, the Hundred Years War, famine, general misery, and all the usual human squalor. But I suppose there _might_ have been a little trip to Venice at some point for the Carnival, when something _might_ have slipped out after me.” He hammered Pierce with a thunderous glare. “But only if some malefactor summoned it.”

“Whatever,” said Pierce. “It’s just as much your fault as mine. I only raised it because I wanted to die, and I’d tried every option available on earth at that time. I thought maybe something supernatural—specifically, one of _your_ crew—might be able to break the curse and kill me.”

“Shag the life out of you, more like.” Lucifer smirked. “Why did you go for a sex demon? I’d have expected you to raise something more conventionally brutal and dull. Like _you_.”

“I just wanted a demon that would do the job and finish me off.” He rubbed his temples wearily. “It didn’t work anyway. Oh, it had sex with me. A lot.” His face clouded, replete with harrowing memories, and Lucifer, at least momentarily, felt sorry for him. “Then it just took off. It turns up every few decades or so for another feed on me, then it strews a few human bodies around, and off it goes again ’til the next time it gets peckish.”

Okay, but not _that_ sorry for him. “And you’ve just _let_ this happen for the past seven hundred years.”

“I’d been expecting it for a while before it showed up again the night before last.” The expression he shot Lucifer was both withering and hangdog. “We had quite a session before it moved on. Seems it was a hungry little demon again last night—I can smell it all over _you_.”

“I thought it was a dream,” countered Lucifer, before standing tall again and rekindling his anger. “Otherwise, I’d have kicked it straight back to hell. But I don’t matter here. People died, Lieutenant. That’s on _you_.”

Marcus rose to his feet, squaring his own massive shoulders. “If _you_ let it out, it’s _your_ job to control it.” He stormed around the table and bellowed into Lucifer’s face. “You’re the Lord of Hell.”

“Oh, I’ll show you the Lord of Hell.”

Pierce deserved punishment for his wanton disregard for human life. Unfortunately, Lucifer’s next intended move, which was to grab Marcus around the throat and smash his head back into his framed police certificates on the wall, went awry. Lucifer’s temper had overridden the knowledge he wasn’t quite on top form, and he failed to do more than squeeze Marcus’s throat. Marcus’s batted him away easily, and seconds later he’d got Lucifer backed up against the door, his thick arm rammed beneath Lucifer’s chin.

“I hope you put on a more impressive show for you demon,” said Pierce, “because I know it loves the taste of me, and what can _I_ do if it turns up when Decker happens to be warming my bed?”

He released Lucifer, who punched him square on the chin, sending him collapsing back onto his haunches.

“Don’t you dare go hear her until this thing is dealt with, _Cain_ , or I’ll…”

“You’ll what? You’ll kill me?” Marcus flexed his battered jaw. “If you won’t trust me to sort it, then control your demon. That’s all you need to do. Don’t you have any authority left at all, Lucifer?”

***

Lucifer breathed deeply, pacifying himself before he spoke to the Detective. He didn’t want to come on too strong and scare her.

Unfortunately, she caught up with him before he’d either calmed down or properly planned his next move. He was at the coffee machine, swilling strong dark coffee around his flask in the hope it would pick up the residue of the sadly departed whisky. He hated that you couldn’t buy decent liquor in this stupid precinct.

“How did things go?” Her pleasant tone was slightly forced. She read his tempestuous mood, and her pretence dropped away. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

As he fixed on her eyes—all kindness and sincerity despite her ongoing frustration with him—his anger ebbed further. “I’ve told the Lieutenant everything I know, and it’s up to him to share what he knows with you.”

_Because you’ll never believe me_.

“But, I implore you, Detective. I know you think I’m doing this because I’m jealous of the Lieutenant, but… I’m saying this because, despite what you think of me, I _do_ care. In a… serious, non-shag-buddies work-partner-y kind of way.”

“You’re saying what, Lucifer?”

“Marcus Pierce is dangerous. He has a past you cannot even start to imagine. Please, if he asks, don’t go on a date with him tonight. Or any time soon. And please, please don’t sleep with him.”

Even as he spoke, her face transformed into a marble effigy of contempt. She turned her back, and walked away. Lucifer knocked back the too-strong black coffee, which rekindled his headache and strengthened his resolve.

He had to make the sure the demon slept with him tonight, not any poor human, and _not_ Marcus Pierce—just in case the Detective was with him. And really, what contest was there? Any self-respecting sex demon would choose a Lucifer Morningstar all-you-can-eat sex buffet over a Cain all-you-can-eat sex buffet.

He tried to ignore that irritating whisper in the back of his mind.

_The Detective chose Pierce._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-con warning applies to this chapter.

_Sunday evening_

“Are you entirely sure about the _white_ boxers?”

Lucifer reclined on his bed, striking a suitably slutty pose. He’d interlinked his hands behind his head, and he’d one knee hitched up, the other leg splayed. “I know I look edible, but white’s never been my colour. Probably something to do with those ruddy wings Dad imposed on me.”

“Yeah, the white’s good. Sex demons have a thing for white.” Maze stood poised at the foot of the bed. She ran her tongue slowly around her lips, clearly relishing the sight of him. Of course, she did. She had eyes. “I guess because of the whole white and virgins thing.”

They both snorted as one. “How very satirical,” said Lucifer. “I guess I can rock the virgin look, however implausible, as long as this works.”

And as long as the demon didn’t go elsewhere shagging vulnerable humans, or munching on Cain and, far worse, the Detective.

“Oh, trust me, it’ll come. It’ll never have had a dish like the devil. Just one little finishing touch needed.”

Lucifer eyed Maze warily as she plucked something out of her weapons bag and advanced toward him. He bristled, as she presented a studded leather collar, but he let her buckle it around his neck all the same, fastening it with a tiny padlock.

“I’ve got a feeling that our omnibus likes bottoming Lucifer Morningstar, and most sex demons veer to the dom persuasion. So, ya know, details matter.”

“Can I choke it with it?” He silently conceded that the feel of the butter-soft leather flush against this throat wasn’t unpleasant. It was, actually, rather nice.

“If I don’t get in first.” She took a step back and admired her handiwork, exuding satisfaction and glee. “This is going to be so much fun. We haven’t had a good scrap together like this in way too long. Oh shit, can I have sex with you first? Otherwise… I might just explode.”

Lucifer mulled the prospect over. Maze, as always, looked hotter than hellfire in a teeny-black-strappy-corset, and shiny trousers that moulded like a second skin over her curves. Then again, if he and Maze were already at it like bunnies, they might be caught unawares by the demon. Or it might pass them over altogether and head off to feast elsewhere.

And, as so often when he’d contemplated fun, meaningless sex lately, his mind flew back to the Detective. If he was shagging with Maze and the Detective was hurt as a consequence…

He eked out tight words of refusal, cut short when the elevator dinged.

Maze, who’d turned moody, slipped out to see who it was. Lucifer doubted it was the sex demon. Those with wings didn’t usually bother with elevators.

“It’s your brother,” called Maze.

“Wingless _and_ impotent, then,” muttered Lucifer. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up to greet Amenadiel, who loafed in, hands in pockets.

“Did I interrupt something?” asked Amenadiel.

“Always,” mumbled Lucifer, slipping on his dressing gown, and wondering why his brother regarded him with even more bewilderment than usual. Amenadiel had caught him in various states of déshabillé before.

Then he remembered the collar. Okay, not exactly the image he wanted to project, not least because he’d finally wrested the upper hand after many millennia of power struggle with Amenadiel. Still, the stupid vanilla-flavoured lout would just have to deal.

“Does this unwelcome surprise have a purpose,” asked Lucifer, “or is it as much of a waste of time as your usual visitations?”

Refusing any banter, Amenadiel loped closer. “I wanted to check on you. I might have lost many of my powers, but I still have my contacts. There’s been whispers about a rogue demon in town.” Now standing close and facing Lucifer, he placed a gentle hand on his arm. Lucifer regarded this as mistrustfully as he had Maze with the collar. “Have you got everything under control, Luci? Is there anything I can help with?

“Let me think.” Lucifer tapped his chin, in a mockery of consideration. “Is there anything a whining, useless fallen angel can do for me? Uh… No. Now if you don’t mind, I’m expecting company.”

Lucifer shooed Amenadiel back toward the elevator, irritated by his brother’s air of compassion, yet also wondering at how nervy and snappish he’d been. Amenadiel didn’t deserve such an earful really, but whatever. When Lucifer threw off his robe and jumped back onto the bed, he realized something horrifying.

It felt like a barrel load of eels was wriggling in his belly. He wasn’t scared. He didn’t _do_ scared. He was, however, nervous. As per ever, he steeled his nerves with wrath.

When this demon got here, Maze wouldn’t get a look in. He’d rip it’s throat out with his bare hands.

***

Lucifer kneeled before the demon. He still couldn’t see the creature clearly, beyond those pin-prick azure eyes, and the rest of the world had vanished beneath a swirl of thunderous dark clouds. He damned well knew this was all wrong. The devil kneeled to nobody. He was supposed to be pulverising this varmint.

The demon leaned forward and hooked one of its talons beneath Lucifer’s collar, forcing him to look up. His whirling confusion slammed to a stunning halt; his mind turned blank and his chest felt tight. Its blood-red lips cracked apart, and a plangent voice resounded in his head.

_“Show yourself to me.”_

The demon forced his head back farther; it’s hard gaze enthralled him, rending coherent thought nigh impossible. Like before, his body felt rigid, and he couldn’t move a muscle without aid. He reached deep inside, seeking some kernel of his divine power, and his anger stirred. How dare this thing make him kneel before them. It should cower before him—he was the Lord of Hell. Oh, he’d make it suffer for daring to shame him so.

He strained to show his devil face… and realized some hideous part of him yearned to do this in order to please the demon. But no, that didn’t matter. He sought it because, surely then, he could break free and wreak havoc. He strained with all he had left to transform himself.

The demon cackled. White feather tips flashed at the peripheries of his vision. Lucifer wasted a brief, lucid moment cursing his luck.

_Thanks, Dad. Great time for the bloody angel wings to show themselves._

“I already have wings,” said the demon. “This is not what I want of you. What must I do to drag it from you in this pathetic weakened state? How many of your humans must I kill? Or maybe… just the one.”

The demon’s sapphire gaze seared to Lucifer’s core, to his heart, daring to draw out Lucifer’s darkest secrets, much like Lucifer had so often drawn out others. It was ruddy obvious what he read there. The Detective. This creature just threatened the Detective.

Anger flashed through Lucifer’s veins, a white-hot rage purer and more potent than any he’d expressed in an age, and a thousand-fold greater than his recent desire for vengeance on this _thing_ or upon Pierce. His face lit up like furnace, his skin rippled and blistered. His transformation proved both welcome—he’d missed his devil face!—and disturbingly beyond his control.

And then it struck him.

_Oh shit,_ he thought faintly. _It’s doing this to me. It’s stolen my mojo and now it’s using it on… me._

“Ah, there you are.” The demon unhooked its talon from the collar and scraped it up beneath Lucifer’s chin, along his raw, tender devil-face flesh. It’s mouth gaped with hunger as it drew closer, and its forked tongue plunged between his lips.

The kiss was rough and torturous, and robbed the last of Lucifer’s breath. As he slipped further into a twilight world of pain and horror, sly be-clawed hands mauled every inch of his flesh. When, at length, the demon released his mouth, Lucifer’s face felt cool. His devil face was gone.

Or… was it stolen?

_Again._

He gasped for air, finding himself splayed flat on his back, exposed, vulnerable and naked, and not at all turned on, with the creature looming over him.

It wore his devil face. Or, at least, some warped parody of it, a smudgy rubicund mess spread like a rash across its features, which remained ill-defined as ever, save those laser blue eyes.

Too lost for the solace of anger, Lucifer cried out. His world turned even more hazy, which was probably a small mercy. When the creature turned him over and thrust inside him, he struggled against the intrusion, against agonizing jolts and piercing thrusts. The pressure grew so terrible he feared he would tear. Then a duller pain and all that damned singing, and the unmistakable, loathsome sensation of being scooped up and carried.

Soon, other bodies joined them: a man, a woman, and Lucifer rediscovered a sense of existing as something other than a toy, a mere receptacle. He regained some semblance of control, but still recalled nothing of himself. He’d lost track of time and space, so he enjoyed a fantastic threesome and then a foursome. He thrust indiscriminately into willing warm bodies, while others fucked and filled him, two maybe three at once. A myriad of glorious, euphoric sensations mounted, marred only toward the end, when demon hands crushed and choked him. It plundered his every orifice without pity once more, and left him writhing in unbearable pain.

And then all faded to a deep, dark red.

***

When Lucifer began to awake, his sickening, skull-splitting headache struck him first. Then the soreness in his rear.

Oh, and also pretty much _everywhere_ else.

He recalled little of the previous night’s events, but one thing was for sure. He was no longer at home, cossetted between the silken sheets of his Emperor-sized bed. Cold air licked his bare skin. He pried an eye open to confirm he lay on hard, grainy earth, amid patches of scrubby foliage that prickled against him.

_Last night might not have quite gone to plan. Smashing. And how on earth did I get… wherever on earth I am?_

He tried to push himself up. That went badly, and he flopped back down. Unease escalating, he curled an arm up to pillow his throbbing head, and assessed his situation. Apart from his now muddied boxers, he was entirely unclad. He’d no jacket and thus no pocket and no cell to call Maze.

Or the Detective.

A lump formed in his throat, making him aware that he was still wearing that demeaning collar. He squeezed his fingers beneath it, but Maze had padlocked the accursed thing and it wouldn’t rip off. _Ruddy brilliant_ , he thought, but he had greater troubles than even tarnishing his immaculate playboy image. He only hoped that whatever had passed last night had been enough to stop the demon from harming the Detective or any other human.

He closed his eyes, trying to gather the strength to get up. And indeed, a few minutes later, he managed to push himself onto his haunches, his knees folded in front of him. Although he trembled ever harder, the world had at least stop swimming. He was just conjuring the energy for the next stage—rising to his two feet—when an eardrum shattering scream and an unearthly yapping noise combined to exacerbate his migraine.

Covering his ears, he frowned toward the origin of the scream. About three yards off, stood a pinch-faced woman with a severe silver-grey bob and a small dog weaving around her heels. The dog kept on yapping. Even when she stopped screaming and whipped a handgun from her purse. Oh, how _very_ LA.

“Don’t you move!” Her voice was as shrill as the dog’s. “I’m calling the police!”

Lucifer, still feeling sluggish, mentally shrugged. He couldn’t quite fathom her extreme reaction, and though he was tempted, she didn’t warrant immediate smiting. At least the police could put him in touch with the Detective. He could check she was alright, and she could extract him from any trouble, although, for once, he wasn’t quite sure that was necessary. What was with this stupid woman? Blessing _any_ human with a glimpse of his superhot body was the exact opposite of a crime, and he damn well rocked a collar better than that yammering mutt. At least his wasn’t pink.

The woman, still brandishing the gun with a single shaking hand, had finished her 911 call.

“I appreciate your citizenly concern for my welfare,” he said sarcastically, “but what exactly am I supposed to have done that’s so reprehensible?”

“There are _two_ dead bodies over there.” The woman used the gun to indicate over his left shoulder, and then she trained the barrel back on his head. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”

“Oh,” said Lucifer, “I see.”

He willed his wings forth, but nothing happened. Bloody Omnibus! Had it stolen his wings… or… oh, crap. A scattering of faint images of the previous night’s horrors filtered back into his consciousness.

The sex… he hadn’t wanted it. The thing… the jokey image of the Omnibus faded from his mind. That thing had _hurt_ him… but no, he couldn’t dwell on that, that was too much… he must think of something else, anything. He felt sick, shakier than ever. He needed something to be angry about… anything to get away from _that_.

Then it struck him. His devil face.

The demon had stolen it from him, dragging it from him even when he’d though it was lost. How _dare_ it? His anger surged like a lava flow inside him, and he snatched succour from it. The demon had killed more humans _and_ stolen from the Lord of Hell. Punishment was well overdue.

He considered trying his luck and walking away from the stupid old bat with her pathetic human weapon. Bullets had never been particularly painful. In his diminished state, it was a risk, but he doubted she’d even get a chance if he barged her quick enough. On the other hand, he could already hear the approach of wailing sirens, and he’d not even the strength to maintain the heat of his rage. He was… shattered.

He lay back down to glare furiously up at the scudding clouds and await the arrival of the LAPD.


	4. Chapter 4

_Monday Morning_

When Chloe climbed out of her car at the crime scene, a uniformed officer told her Lucifer was a suspect, and most certainly a Person of Interest. She refused to believe it.

Lucifer was perched on the floor at the back of a police van, his legs bare, wearing just some grimy boxers and a blanket draped over his shoulders. A medic was examining him, and he’d not been cuffed, which was one small relief. After all, it was equally likely—even in the judgement of those who didn’t know him—that he was another victim, whom the killer hadn’t managed to finish off. Nevertheless, a couple of armed response officers flagged him, indicating the first cops on the scene were hedging their bets.

She made straight for Lucifer, ducking under two sets of crime-scene tape. She only briefly glanced at the bodies strewn between them, although the scene wrenched her heart, as always. She also noted the same musty odour that’d polluted the air at the first two crimes, and then she turned all her attention to Lucifer.

He looked as rough as she’d ever seen him, worse even than yesterday. His skin was pallid beneath a thin sheen of sweat, and the shadows beneath both his eyes were dark as bruises. He wore a hideous kink-play collar, which in the circumstances, seemed so wrong it hurt. Her already bleeding heart instantly went out to him.

“Lucifer! I can’t believe… Shit, are you okay?”

She clasped his forearm, hoping to offer comfort. He opened his mouth and shut it again. If Lucifer Morningstar was even momentarily lost for words, something truly awful had happened.

“He’s probably in mild shock,” said the medic, who was just packing up her kit. “Are you a friend?”

“Yeah, I’m his partner.”

“That’s good. I’ll leave him with you to look after. He’ll need to be checked out properly back at the hospital. Apart from these superficial scratches, there’s no obvious sign of physical injury, at least as far as I can ascertain here.”

She gestured to some very faint red marks on Lucifer’s neck, chest and stomach, similar to those on the murder victims bodies. Chloe felt sick.

“I’m not in shock,” said Lucifer, “The notion of the devil being in shock is absurd. I’m just very angry, and still a little… off form.”

“Okay,” she said, gently humouring him, as the medic shot her a sympathetic, “your partner’s not at all okay,” look.

“Can you please cut this blasted collar off me?” he said, becoming crosser and reassuringly more Lucifer-ish. “I understand this young lady means well, but all her prodding and poking is making me feel like a prize poodle.”

The medic handed Chloe some scissors. The blades were narrow and fine, but she still had to work carefully, as Lucifer’s throat was already reddened and abraded where the collar had rubbed, and she didn’t want to hurt him further. Concentrating, she frowned. The collar wasn’t that tight, so whoever attacked Lucifer, must have choked him with it, or something awful like that, to have made these marks.

Carefully, she peeled the horrid thing off him, pleased when the medic left them. The armed guards hung around, watching them from a few paces afar.

“Lucifer, you have try and to tell me what happened,” she said.

“To be brutally honest, Detective, I can’t remember much at all.” He clenched his fists in his lap, clearly an effort to hide how he trembled. He failed.

He needed her. He’d rarely needed her so much, and that fired her up in ways she’d no time to analyse right then. She slid up onto the floor of the van beside him, so his bare thighs brushed her trousers. She could feel the tension rolling from him. “It’s okay,” she said, “I’ll take care of this.”

_I’ll take care of you._

She sighed inwardly at herself. She’d been _so_ angry with him, but she couldn’t be angry now. It was hard to nurse a grudge against a friend who’d just been through what Lucifer had clearly suffered. And whatever had passed between them, he was still her friend. He meant… doubtless still far too much to her, if the fullness of her heart right now was any indicator.

“Have you any idea how you got here?” she asked.

He stared unseeingly ahead. “A little. I’d rather talk to you about it in private.”

She nodded, giving him a little squeeze. “Okay.”

“No, I’m afraid it’s not okay, Detective Decker.” At Marcus’s voice, Chloe jumped up. She’d been so absorbed in Lucifer that she’d not even noticed Marcus approaching, clad in his biker leathers.

She was, quite frankly, now nearly as angry with Marcus as she had previously been with Lucifer. She’d intended to ignore Lucifer’s advice to stay away from Marcus. As it had transpired, she hadn’t needed to. Marcus had cancelled a date with her last night, totally out of the blue and with an abrupt text. “I’m taking you off this case, Decker. Lucifer is your partner, and he is also now our prime suspect.”

His harsh tone appalled her. “He could just as easily be a victim,” she pointed out.

“I’m nobody’s victim, but I didn’t kill those people.” Lucifer slid shakily to his feet and squared up to Pierce in a fashion that almost had Chloe rolling her eyes. When would these two get over each other? “You _know_ that, Lieutenant. What are you playing at?”

“I know nothing right now other than what the evidence suggests.” Pierce folded his arms, the edges of his mouth ruffled by the hint of a snide smile. “And some very incriminating evidence has come to light.” He nodded to the two loitering cops. “Cuff him, officers. Decker—I meant what I said. You’re off this case. You can take the rest of the day off.”

She stared at him, incredulous, but his stern attitude was inarguable. She understood why she was being taken off the case. However, whatever this new incriminating evidence against Lucifer was, it _had_ to be a mistake. Somehow, someway, she’d fight to the last to prove his innocence.

Marcus’s rough handling of it all bugged her too. He was also way too close to Lucifer—in a bad “hate your guts” kind of way—to be in charge of this case. He should be stepping aside, if he was the professional she’d thought he was. And if Marcus couldn’t trust her instincts regarding Lucifer, did he trust her at all? Most pertinently, Chloe found she didn’t trust Marcus. His enmity with Lucifer was at least partially her fault, but she was starting to suspect there was much more to it.

What did Lucifer mean, when he claimed Marcus knew he was innocent? What were they _both_ keeping from her?

The sight of Lucifer being cuffed now seized all her attention. She feared he’d do something rash—slip the cuffs off, or headbutt one of the officers—making his predicament ten times worse. She noted him strain against the cuffs, but her sharp reprimanding look proved unnecessary. Whatever trick he’d previously used to escape seemed beyond him now. Instead, he spoke tightly from between gritted teeth, “Detective, please go to Lux. Check on Maze, and don’t go alone.”

Marcus stepped between them. “Don’t you dare go near Lux. Go home. That’s an order, or I’ll have your badge.”

After Lucifer was led away, she rounded on Marcus. “What’s with you? You know something that you’re not telling me, about this case. About Lucifer.”

He buried both sets of his fingers in his hair and heaved a groan of heartfelt pain, which startled her. “Decker… Chloe… Look, I know it must look like I’m being a complete arsehole—”

“Yeah, that notion has crossed my mind,” said Chloe, “I’m listening, though. I’d appreciate a clear explanation concerning how you’re treating Lucifer… and how you’re treating me.”

“Chloe, this is something huge; something way beyond my control. I’d tell you if I could, but I can’t, because it’s too dangerous. That’s why I want you to stay out of this case and away from Lucifer.”

“And away from you too?” she asked, “because it’s starting to feel like you want it that way. One moment, everything was going perfectly, and suddenly… You won’t even explain why you’ve gone cold on me.”

“Yeah, I do you want you to stay away, but only because I don’t want you hurt, or anybody close to you hurt.” His words were loaded with such pleading and anguish that she couldn’t help but be mollified a little. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “Just trust me on this, okay? As soon as this is all sorted out, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Everything is gonna be just fine.”

Chloe remained tight-lipped, as he walked away. Lucifer had asked her to trust him yesterday, and she’d pushed him away. At least, today, Lucifer had wanted to talk. Marcus had prevented him.

Lucifer, meanwhile, had been taken to a waiting police car. He glanced her way as he was pressed into the backseat, his habitual anger vying with a lost look that touched her even more deeply that Marcus’s desperate pleading.

Whose side should she take? Could she somehow juggle both their needs? Her gut instincts, nevertheless, pushed her toward Lucifer. She’d already decided that Lux would be her first port of call after leaving the crime scene.

As for checking on Maze, her first recourse was to try Maze’s cell. No answer, and though Maze often ignored calls, Chloe’s alarm sky-rocketed. That anybody, let alone Lucifer, could be worried about somebody as kickass as Maze troubled her deeply. Nevertheless, she needed to check out a few details of this crime scene before she headed to Lux.

She waited in her car until the police vehicle containing Lucifer departed, with Marcus on his motorcycle roaring in hot pursuit. Then she slipped out and hurried over to where Ella beavered away, one among a large team of forensics surveying every inch of the sight. On spotting Chloe hovering beside the tape, Ella jumped up and joined her.

“Hey.” Ella sounded way below her usual levels of exuberance, her seriousness juxtaposing with a super-smiley sunflower on her t-shirt. “Okay, so you’re off the case, but you’re not _really_ , are you? You’re gonna help me prove Lucifer didn’t do it, right?”

Chloe puffed out her cheeks, the shocks of the morning still sinking in. “I’m going to have to tread carefully. I don’t want to make things worse.”

“Right now, I’m not sure you could.” Ella wrinkled her nose, apologetic. “Look, I never showed you what I’m about to show you, okay?”

She dashed over to an evidence trestle, and returned with a clear plastic bag containing a cell-phone. With her latex-clad hand, she retrieved the cell and opened up a selfie of an attractive red-haired woman. The same attractive red-haired woman whose body now lay, semi-clad, at the centre of the crime scene. In the background of the picture, two men kissed.

One of the guys—really getting into it with tongues and everything—was Lucifer. The other was the half-naked dead man, whose body was slumped near the late woman. The picture was captioned, _Hottest 3some Ever!!!_

“Shit.” Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, it’s pretty strong circumstantial evidence,” said Ella, “but that’s all it is right now. I mean, the only real difference here between Lucifer and the other victims is that he isn’t dead. And look…” She zoomed in on the corner of the picture. In one spot, a nebulous shape blotted out the starry sky.

“Okay, it might be a bush or something, but it could be our killer. If we figure out exactly where this pic was taken, we can maybe prove there was a fourth attendee at Lucifer’s little sex party, then we’re half way there, right? I mean, when this poor lady said “threesome,” maybe she wasn’t even involved. Maybe she was _watching_ the others? Plus, you’ve got that footage of the hooded figure climbing in the window, which this image might match. There’s hope, right?”

“There’s always hope.” Chloe managed an encouraging smile. “Good work, Ella. Let me know as much as you can without getting in trouble. I’ve, uh, got an appointment at Lux.”

“Lux with no Lucifer in it.” Ella shook her head. “Man, this is so screwed up.”

***

Chloe heeded Lucifer’s warning, and persuaded Dan to join her for her visit to Lux. Dan was at a loss anyway. His enquiries concerning “flying squirrel man,” who’d landed on the hotel where the second set of victims were found, had turned up as much “zilch” as most of Ella’s endeavours had. Nobody had seen or heard a thing.

Lux proved eerily vacant too, and finding no sign of Maze, they moved on to check Lucifer’s penthouse. As they entered from the elevator, Chloe noted the place was a bit of a mess, littered with discarded clothes, empty glasses and liquor bottles.

Nothing was _too_ remiss, then, apart from the smell. She sniffed hard, and inhaled a decidedly weird odour, pungent like damp, or rotting leaves… with a hint of sulphur and eggs. “Do you smell something?” she asked Dan.

“Nah,” he said, “though I’m surprised this place doesn’t reek of alcohol. Maybe my sense of smell is a bit off.”

“Maybe.” A lump formed in Chloe’s throat. Okay, that was the stench from both the crime scenes. If the stink somehow provided further evidence linking Lucifer to the deaths, then she’d keep it to herself for now. Dan, like Ella before, didn’t seem to sense it, and besides, this mission had another purpose.

“Maze?” she called, “are you here?”

A loud groan emanated from Lucifer’s boudoir, to where Chloe and Dan now dashed. Dan let in some daylight.

“Ow!” Maze was lying on the bed, naked beneath a twisted silk sheet. She shielded her eyes, squinting at the sudden onslaught of sun. “Hey, what are you two doing here?” She sat bolt upright, her voice suddenly edged with steel. “Where’s Lucifer?”

Chloe filled her in on everything that’d passed. Maze, who seemed to be suffering from a very un-Maze-like hangover, dropped back onto the pillows and groaned a few more times.

“Shit,” she muttered, peeping between the fingers that covered her face. “I knew I should’ve kicked it’s butt sooner. But… Ugh, what it was doing to Lucifer! I… I just couldn’t stop watching, like I was entranced or something. Then… before I knew it, I was joining in. Well, it more felt like I was sucked in.” She removed her hands from her eyes, and slid her tongue around her cheek. “Soooo much sucking, sooo much sex. And I did things. Stuff I don’t usually do… I, y'know, like to top, to be in control, and I wanted it, believe me I did, but—I kind of wish I hadn’t done it now, and that _is_ odd.”

She shuddered and wrapped her arms tight around herself, another oddly un-Maze behaviour.

“Shit!” Dan, who’d been pacing the room, evidently trying not to stare at the barely-covered Maze, stopped dead then thumped the wall with the side of his clenched fist. “Shit, shit! How did this happen?”

“Maze, I’m so sorry.” Chloe strove to keep her own emotions reined in; she had to focus and remain professional. “Our perp sounds like he’s drugging you all. You need to get a check-up, see if anything shows up in your bloodwork. And you need go down the station and give a description of the person you saw.”

Maze laughed wryly; she seemed less traumatized than Lucifer had been, but still a tad shaken. “None of that will work.”

“Why not?” asked Dan

“Because your “perp” was a sex demon.” Maze shrugged. “It flew in, mucked around with us, then it flew off. Took Lucifer with it, I guess, although everything was a bit hazy by then. And wherever Lucifer goes, it’s gonna follow, because there’s no tastier dish than the devil’s immortality. Oh, and his butt.” Maze grinned lasciviously. Chloe and Dan gaped at her, incredulous. “Lucifer does have a fantastic butt, and that demon was pretty into it, if you get my gist.”

Chloe strove harder than ever to keep herself calm. “Maze, what you’ve just been through…” She shook her head. “It’s horrible and I’m so, so sorry, but please try and cut out the demon crap for now.” And any more salacious comments about Lucifer’s butt, though Chloe couldn’t quite bring herself to mention that. “You’re an important witness. I know it’s hard, but you need to seriously try and remember what this other person looked we can get a sketch, and—"

“What’s going on?” They all startled—once again, _so_ un-Maze—at Amenadiel’s deep, resonant voice. He stood at the entrance to the boudoir, hands in pocket. Like Dan, he studiously attempted to look anywhere other than at Maze’s near-nakedness. “Where’s Lucifer?”

They moved into the main living area, while Chloe and Dan brought Amenadiel up to speed. When Chloe mentioned the very real possibility that Lucifer had been sexually assaulted, possibly Maze too, Amenadiel turned very still, save a muscle that twitched along the line of his jaw.

Maze, meanwhile, rooted around to find her clothes. She emerged, evidently feeling a lot better, spinning a blade in either hand. “Okay, so it got me once. Won’t happen again. I’m going to go find Lucifer, wait for it to come feed, then kick its ass.”

“I will come with you, Mazikeen,” said Amenadiel, rising from the couch. “To ensure no more harm comes to either of you again.”

“Nobody harmed me." The laugh in her voice seemed a little forced.

“But they may have harmed Lucifer, and I cannot let that hap—"

Chloe caught Amenadiel’s sleeve, drawing back his focus and shaking her head.

“Lucifer is in custody,” she said. “If either of you cause any trouble, it’ll only make things worse for him.”

“I don’t see how.” Maze pitched one of her blades so it spun across the room and lodged its point into a valuable-looking ancient carving. “We’ve got to do something.”

“I agree,” said Chloe. “But we’ve got to be careful. So, uh, no breaking Lucifer out of jail. Amenadiel, Dan—you’re both friends with Charlotte Richards, right? Could one of you give her a call and see if she’d be willing to represent Lucifer? I know he has friends in high places and might already be onto it, but he needs all the help he can get right now.”

“I’ll do that immediately,” said Amenadiel. Dan, on the other hand, squirmed as if he was sitting on something unpleasant.

“You okay?” asked Chloe.

Dan rose, staring at where he’d been sitting, then swore loudly.

“What is it?”

Dan turned around, showing everybody what he’d picked up from the couch. A curling talon, identical to the ones found at the crime scenes. “Killer’s calling card, anybody?”

“We need to get a forensics team in here, and fast,” said Chloe. “There has to be some prints or some DNA _somewhere_. Dan, seeing as I’m off the case, you’d better call it in, and then—”

Chloe broke off as the elevator doors opened, disgorging two LAPD officers and a team of forensics. Dan chuckled dryly. “I knew I was good, but _that_ was impressive.”

His humour faded when one of the officers held up a search warrant. “This place is now out of bounds, and you’ll all be required to go down to the precinct and make a statement concerning exactly what you were doing here.”

From the corner of her eye, Chloe saw Dan hide the talon behind his back. It was already too late. One of the forensics team, advanced toward him with a plastic evidence bag.

“By orders of Lieutenant Pierce,” she said, “we’ll be taking that.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Monday afternoon_

Lucifer sat at the table the interrogation room, his hands manacled in the small of his back. The cuffs still obstinately refused to give and he grew more agitated every minute that ticked by. He’d _still_ got a headache, and he’d _still_ got no powers. Most insulting of all, his own police department had dressed him in a skanky t-shirt and jogging bottoms that managed to bag at the waist _and_ be too short in the leg. When normal business resumed, he was going to be far less generous with the donuts.

“Dad,” he murmured. “If this is some kind of joke, then haha, very funny, but enough is bloody enough. What’s the point of me being the Lord of Hell, if I can’t even control a rogue demon that’s going around killing your beloved humans?”

What was he doing? As if Dad would give a flying fuck. He thudded his forehead down against the table top.

_I really am losing it._

His senses remained as substandard as the rest of him, because he never heard Pierce enter the room. Pierce grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and yanked him to his feet. Seizing his opportunity, Lucifer headbutted Pierce in the face. Pierce staggered back at the impact. Lucifer, his head pounding and seeing stars, collapsed back down onto the chair. His forehead throbbed, and he sensed the warm trickle of blood, but he didn’t care. He willed his anger, his strength to finally bust out of these cuffs. _Anything_ to be able to let out some frustration and punish this bastard as was deserved.

Pierce dabbed his nose with his sleeve. “I was hoping this was how you’d want to play this. Actually, I’d been kind of looking forward to it.”

He hauled Lucifer up again. Before Lucifer could weigh up the pros and cons of attempting another headbutt, Pierce pummelled him in the gut, once, twice, then three times with his massive balled fist, before letting Lucifer crumple. Lucifer found himself on the interrogation room floor, a spot where he’d often seen miscreants weep and cower after he’d eked confessions from them. Now it was him who curled in on himself, gasping in pain. He stopped straining against the cuffs, as it seemed only to be bruising his wrists.

“Why are you doing this, _Cain_?” He managed to snarl up at Pierce, who loomed over him. “As much as I’d love nothing more than to cut off any part of you that you’ve as much as dreamed of touching the Detective with…” He mustered a smirk “…you _know_ I didn’t do this, and I’m the only one who can stop this thing. This is about more than you and I disliking each other. People are dying, so let me do my job!”

“Yeah, and a great job you’ve done so far, beyond spreading your legs for it. Twice.” Pierce rolled up his sleeves. “I’m sorry, Lucifer, but you had your chance. If you can’t take it down, then I might as well let it take _you_ down. I mean, never in all those centuries has it enjoyed a feast more than me—and now it’s lavishing its attention you and leaving me be. And if it finishes you off? Well, you just go back to hell, and I might have a fighting chance with Decker—of making things up to her, and of finally being able to die.”

As Lucifer struggled to get his head around all this, Pierce rammed him back against the wall, plied another punch right in the solar plexus, then grabbed him around the throat with a crushing grip.

“Doesn’t feel great being on the receiving end, does it?” drawled Pierce. “And I’ve been on the receiving end a _lot_ over years. That demon— _your_ demon—you have no idea what it’s put me through.” Such anguish muddied Pierce’s anger, that Lucifer almost felt sorry for him. It was still too good an opportunity to miss. Lucifer slammed his knee into Pierce’s balls. Pierce staggered back, even as Lucifer collapsed again, choking and spluttering whilst bloody pleased to see Pierce grabbing his man-parts and spluttering too.

“I didn’t create demons,” said Lucifer. “You can add that to the list of things you can blame my Father for. And this demon being here is on you! Yeah, I’ve taken the hit too, but believe me, I can take it. But you’ve caused countless deaths and you’re _using_ the Detective. First chance I get, I’m going to personally castrate you.”

Unfortunately, that chance didn’t look like it was on its way any time soon. He was on his knees, still had his hands cuffed behind his back and apparently next-to-zilch powers. And bloody Pierce was recovering faster.

“This is priceless,” muttered Pierce. “The Lord of Hell cowering at my feet.”

“I don’t cower. I’ve never cowered, not even before my egregious Father, and I’m never going to cower before you.”

Lucifer tried to rise. Pierce drew back his biker-booted foot ready for a bone-crunching kick somewhere around Lucifer’s shins. As the door flew open, he pulled up short. Charlotte Richards strode in, with Amenadiel at her shoulder.

“My client isn’t saying another word… Oh my God!” On seeing Lucifer on the floor, Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Amenadiel, being Amenadiel, took one look Lucifer’s way, and reacted with his usual level of subtlety.

With a roar, Amenadiel threw himself at Pierce and plied what had to be a near knockout blow to the side of the Lieutenant’s face. Lucifer couldn’t help lamenting how embarrassingly pathetic he must look to warrant such a display of vengeance on his behalf. On the other hand, the blood from the cut on his forehead had started dripping over his eye. He was humiliatingly grateful when Charlotte crouched beside him and gently dabbed it with a handkerchief.

“It’s okay, Lucifer, we’re going to help. We’re going get you out of here.”

Lucifer wanted to tell her he didn’t need her help, but something resembling panic struck him dumb. Would that be a lie? As she tended him, he reassured himself. No, he still didn’t need help. But matters _had_ got out of hand, and as much as he hated the notion of Amenadiel defending him, he snatched some guilty pleasure at watching his brother lay into Pierce.

Pierce was clutching his battered face. Amenadiel looked about as much of an avenging angel as he could in his fallen state, radiating righteous fury. Conversely, Lucifer also enjoyed how Amenadiel, having ceased punching Pierce, was rubbing and blowing on his battered “fallen” knuckles.

“Thanks for the black eye, chum,” said Pierce, leaned forward with his hands braced on his thighs. “Lucifer’s injuries now look even more like I inflicted them in self-defence. Or maybe I’ll just have you arrested too.”

“Not without going through me,” said Charlotte, planting herself in front of Lucifer. “Whatever the bail is, my client can pay.”

“Bail’s a no-no,” said Pierce. “Lucifer’s been charged with seven counts of murder. You do the math.”

“On what evidence?” demanded Charlotte. “I know the truth, Pierce. I know what Lucifer is, what Amenadiel is, and I know what _you_ are.”

Pierce looked briefly rattled, then shrugged. “Bully for you. Nobody is going to believe any of that shit, so let’s stick with what the rest of humanity will see.” Pierce picked up an overturned chair and plonked himself on it. “First, there’s the overwhelming circumstantial evidence of your client being caught at the crime scene. Then, there’s his lack of alibi for the first two crimes, the talon calling-card found at all the scenes and now at his apartment and… let’s see what else is piling up.” He pulled out his cell, casually thumbing the screen. 

“Luci,” said Amenadiel, edging Lucifer’s way. “Are you o—”

“If anybody else enquires after my welfare today, I’m going to personally disembowel them the instant I finish with _him_.” He jerked his chin in Pierce’s direction. “Got it?”

“Okay, Luci.” Amenadiel sounded abominably like a parent—or, indeed, an older sibling—trying to placate an overwrought child. Lucifer was considering his snarky come back, when Pierce, who’d been reading his phone, got in first.

“Did anybody tell you about the DNA from the first crime scene?” he asked. “How it busted all the machinery? The same team just tried to extract Lucifer’s DNA and its screwed the equipment so badly one of the processors caught fire. The scientists have no idea why, but if breaking the DNA machine can be considered a match… then Lucifer is a match.” He drummed his fingers against his chin. “Interesting case for the prosecution. Then again, Lucifer is known to have friends in high places. They could argue his corrupt influence reaches so high he’s perverted science. Jury could go either way, if it was based on the DNA alone, but along with the circumstantial evidence and the calling card, I wouldn’t like to rate his chances.”

“I’d like to speak to my client alone,” demanded Charlotte. “And are these cuffs really necessary? Can you take them off, please?”

Pierce complied with the first request, not the second. As soon as he departed the room, Amenadiel dashed to Lucifer’s side. He and Charlotte had helped Lucifer into the chair before Lucifer could express quite how much he hated being helped.

“What’s going on, Luci?” Amenadiel, perching on the table beside Lucifer, placed a hand on his shoulder, which Lucifer eyed warily. How dare his brother take such advantage when he couldn’t even bat the idiot away. Still, Lucifer took the opportunity to fill in Amenadiel and Charlotte on the whole story. Maze had told Amenadiel some of it, but Maze didn’t know all. Fortunately, they’d recently opened up to Charlotte about their true identities, so they could discuss everything openly.

“I can’t believe a lowly demon could damage you this badly.” Amenadiel sighed.

“I told you—if I'd had any idea the initial attack wasn’t a dream, I’d have ground it to dust. It _was_ a good dream, at first, but that’s none of your damned business.” He didn’t want to talk about _that_. Not with Amenadiel. Possibly, not ever. He hid his disquiet behind a withering glare. “I can’t believe I’m even asking this,” he said, “but is Maze is alright?”

“She’s fine,” replied Amandiel, giving Lucifer an unwanted squeeze.

“Fine enough to bust me out?”

“Last night’s unfortunate events diminished her powers slightly. But yeah, I’m sure she’ll be back on form shortly, and so will you be.”

“And our corrupt Lieutenant is right about one thing,” interjected Charlotte. “Haven’t you two got contacts? I mean, not just here on Earth. Surely at least one of you has a direct line to…” She jabbed her finger skyward. “… to God?”

Lucifer plied his withering look on Charlotte, and this time, Amenadiel joined him.

“I’m not going to bless a question that stupid with an answer either,” said Lucifer.

“Father and I haven’t spoken in some time,” admitted Amenadiel. “I will try appealing to one of our siblings, but I can’t be sure any will listen.”

“And I used my single terrestrial call to speak to the Chief of Police.” Lucifer winced. “It’s difficult to work my mojo over the phone. Especially when it’s barely functioning in the first place. Our lady boss wasn’t as charmed as she usually is.” That was an understatement. She’d shrieked, then hung up on him. “The whole being charged with seven counts of murder thing _might_ have put her off me somewhat.”

“Fine,” said Charlotte. “I should be able to pull a few strings still. But, really guys, I can only deal with the legal business. When it comes to the supernatural—come on, you’re the sons of God. Are you two really so helpless?”

“Helpless?”

“ _Me_?”

“Us?”

“How dare you!”

Lucifer, having leaped to his feet, found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with Amenadiel, united this time in indignance. Charlotte rewarded them with a decorous if condescending simper.

“Besides, I do have a plan.” Lucifer sat down as gracefully as he could with his knees wobbly as jelly. “If as lowly an immortal as Cain can perform a ritual to summon a demon out of Hell, then surely the Lord of Hell can perform one that would send it back.”

“A good plan,” said Amenadiel. “What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know any stupid mumbo jumbo rituals, do I?” sniped Lucifer. “I’ve never needed any before. Demons usually just do what I say.”

_Well, sort of. On a good day with the wind behind me._

By the time the van arrived to take Lucifer to jail, they’d hatched a decent-ish plan. Charlotte would use her legal wiles to pick holes in Pierce’s case against Lucifer. Amenadiel would bury his head into every ancient grimoire in Lucifer’s library—plus any others beside that he could get his hands on—to seek a ritual for sending demons back to hell. Or, even better, blasting them out of time and space.

Lucifer, meanwhile, would sit tight, and resign himself to the only part of the plan that he hadn’t shared with Charlotte and Amenadiel. Whether in jail or not, he had to ensure the demon came to feast on him as much as possible, until he figured out how to kill it.

***

Lucifer wasn’t sure what impressed him least about prison. The overall standard of the hospitality, the orange onesie, or the quality of the toiletries. It was a close-run thing. Seeing as he took it for granted that he could pull off any outfit better than all other beings in existence—even that horrid combo he’d worn in the interrogation room—he decided the lack of decent hair product pissed him off the most.

He glanced in the cell’s cracked mirror and concluded the sight of his worn, tired-looking self and un-styled hair was maybe not the worst punishment he’d ever faced, but at least middling in the rankings. Even _he_ couldn’t rock tangerine with a complexion that seedy and pale. He hoped the demon wasn’t too put off. Then again, his shocking state _was_ the demons fault.

He threw himself on the bottom bunk. It was hard and lumpy, and the pillow could scarcely be described as three dimensional. There was no way he could get comfortable. But he _was_ shattered, and at least they'd taken those ruddy cuffs off. At length, he drifted into an uneasy doze, which was rudely interrupted by the clunk of the door opening. Crude neon light flooded the cell, and Lucifer sat up so abruptly he whacked his head on the bottom of the bunk above.

“Ow.” He rubbed his squashed hair and blinked into the too-bright light, momentarily wondering if the figure before him was an apparition.

Or, very possibly, Dad’s best joke ever.

Lucifer’s grin spread slowly, as he lapped up the sight of Amenadiel, former strongest of God’s angels and power-hungry dick, looking awkward and sad-eyed in the fashion _de jour_ , an orange onesie.

Lucifer exploded with laughter. “I would pay a million dollars just to have my phone back and take a picture of you. It would _so_ go viral in the Silver City.”

“Luci, this isn’t the time for jokes,” said Amandiel.

“That’s a shame, because you’ve been a joke since the beginning of time. But I suppose you’re one of the few members of team Lucifer at the present, so I’ll rein in the laughing and pointing. For now.”

“You can talk,” grumbled Amenadiel, sitting down on the bed beside him. His dark eyes brimmed with concern “Luci, you look terrible. Are you ok—”

“What did I tell you about that question earlier?” Confronted with Lucifer’s snarling wrath, Amenadiel recoiled, which cheered Lucifer slightly. “Now, I assume you’ve found out how to get rid of this demon, right? Also, seeing as its not Halloween, why are you joining me in the pumpkin parade?”

“I _have_ found out how to get rid of the demon, but…” Amenadiel sighed down into his lap. “You're not going to like it. With regards to a ritual, the demon can only be sent back by the one that summoned it. We have to somehow get Pierce on our side.”

Lucifer’s blood simmered at the mere prospect. “There _must_ be another way.”

“Charlotte and Maze are still working on it,” said Amenadiel, “but Pierce is our best shot. Charlotte is going to approach him and try to reason with him. And, Luci, there’s another thing. The reason I’m here, like this.” He peeped at Lucifer, sidelong and sheepish. “You see, according to one of the texts, if a life-sucking sex demon becomes powerful enough, it can wipe _any_ being from existence, even Divine beings on which it had been feeding.”

“Oh,” said Lucifer. “That… is a little concerning. I still don’t see why you’re here.”

Amenadiel straightened and jutted his chin, displaying the remnants of his now frayed arrogance. In doing so, he too whacked his head on the bunk above. “Ow!” He rubbed his pate. “Isn’t it obvious, Luci? I am still an angel, and we all know a fully powerful angel can smite any demon.”

“Yes, a fully powerful angel, might,” said Lucifer with faux sweetness. “That most certainly isn't you.”

“No, but I’m the best you’ve got. Charlotte used some of her prison contacts to get me in here, because you need… Oh, I know you won’t admit it, but you need _protection_ , Lucifer. If this thing… feeds on you again, you might be destroyed.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Even if that was true, which I severely doubt, who’s going to protect _you_?”

“At least, together, we might stand a fighting chance. And, Luci, what it did to you. I know the first time you said you wanted it. But the truth is, it fooled you, and it took you against your will, and I can’t let—”

“That’s what some demons do. That’s what they’ve always done. Haven’t you read… well, pretty much _all_ the ancient literature on incubi, succubae, the usual suspects? And didn’t Dad _tell_ you that, before you tossed me into a fiery Hell pit writhing with demons of _all kinds_?”

“Luci, I—"

“Discussion over.” Lucifer shoved Amenadiel off the bunk so he could lie back down. Because _those_ were experiences he was never going to share, let alone think about. Even if he could remember anything save vagaries and the pain. He was good at blotting that sort of thing out; he’d had to be. “Point is, if Maze and I couldn’t best this thing, there’s not a chance you can.”

Amenadiel hovered awkwardly, shuffling from toe to toe.

“Did you happen to bring any weapons in with you?” asked Lucifer. “Demon blades? Flaming swords tucked inside your onesie or smuggled up a convenient orifice?”

“I’m afraid not. It might have been a sham arrest, but I could hardy bring anything like that in here.”

“Fantastic! I hope it finishes you off before me, so I can enjoy the show. Now, I was trying to get some sleep, so turn that light off.”

Amenadiel didn’t oblige. Lucifer rolled onto his side with a noisy huff and curled up facing the wall. Amenadiel paced the cell, footfalls heavy on the concrete floor. Then there was a groan, a loud creak, and then a colossal crack as the whole bunkbed shifted.

“What are you doing?” Lucifer rolled back over to see his brother wrenching away part of the top bunk’s metal frame. Amenadiel beamed, clearly thrilled with himself, brandishing the thick bar in both hands like a staff.

“There you go,” he said, “I have a weapon.”

“You look ready to battle Robin Hood,” said Lucifer. “A super-powerful demon is still going to eat you alive.

Amenadiel rolled back his shoulders and stood tall. “You underestimate me, Lucifer. I _will_ protect you, whether you like it or not.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

The merest hint of a proud smile quirked on Amenadiel’s lips. Then the frame of the top bunk collapsed down on Lucifer below. Hostilities were suspended, while Amenadiel helped Lucifer free himself from the mess. Then Lucifer vented his ever-burgeoning frustration by snapping Amenadiel’s stupid staff clean in two.


	6. Chapter 6

_Monday Evening_

Chloe dipped her head into Ella’s lab. She might be off Lucifer’s case, but she knew Ella would still share everything she could, and Chloe was getting desperate.

“Hey,” she said, “turned up anything new about the, uh, Browne case?”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Ella looked up from her microscope and gave an exaggerated wink. “I have. On the _Browne_ case that you’ve come to enquire after. Totally.” When Chloe had refused to take the rest of the day off after having been dragged in to make a statement about why she was at Lucifer’s penthouse, Pierce had reassigned her to the Browne case—a six-month old crime that they all knew was more frigid than an ice storm.

“Yup,” said Chloe, nodding sagely. “The Browne case.” Ella turned up her music and beckoned Chloe over, clearly ready to talk all things Lucifer, which cheered Chloe after a stressful few hours.

She’d heard from Charlotte what’d passed between Marcus and Lucifer in the interrogation room, that Marcus had got physical while Lucifer had been in cuffs and unable to defend himself. Charlotte wasn’t on the top of Chloe’s “trust” list, and she’d not seen Lucifer since the incident, so she was far from clear on the truth. Still, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to hear Marcus’s side of the story. Given his recent treatment of Lucifer, Charlotte’s account seemed plausible.

And while Ella might not be that discreet, Chloe knew she could trust her, and she _really_ needed somebody to trust right now.

“Sorry, I’ve got nothing to get Lucifer off the hook yet,” said Ella, once Chloe was in earshot. “I had a good look at the photo of Lucifer kissing that dude—man, that was _hot_! There’s a couple of weird blue pixels, but I can’t pull anything that proves the dark shape behind them isn’t a shadow.”

Ella showed her the enlarged picture. Chloe nodded, mute. The weird glowing spots resembled creepy eyes, but disclosed nothing tangible. Could’ve been a reflection on the lens, a trick of the light. Damn. Everything was going against them. Only Ella’s ongoing exuberance gave her hope.

“But,” continued Ella, “I’ve got a theory about the killer’s weird calling-card. It’s bit crazy, but I was about to see if I’m right. If I am… it changes everything. Pow! Knockout blow! A real breakthrough for science, the universe and everything. Want to stay watch?”

Chloe might have felt the joy more if Ella had announced a breakthrough for proving Lucifer’s innocence. She managed a meagre smile. “I guess if it’s that’s amazing, I’d better.”

Chloe squeezed behind Ella, who returned to her microscope. She’d placed one of the calling-card talons beneath the lens and was about to measure it with a device that reminded Chloe of a compasses she’d once drawn a circle with at Junior High. That’d been memorable, because it’d happened on one of the few days she’d actually got to go to Junior High.

“Lopez, I need you to—”

At the sudden bark of Marcus’s voice, both Chloe and Ella looked round sharply. Marcus took one look at Chloe and his sternness melted slightly, although Chloe stared daggers.

“Just turn that goddamn music down, Lopez,” said Marcus. He offered Chloe a mildly embarrassed nod, then left.

Ella cringed then obeyed, dropping her voice to a whisper. “What the heck’s going on with Pecker? A day or so back, you were all loved up.”

Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose. “Honestly, I have no idea. It was going great, but since this case started—he just makes excuses and runs away. And he’s been _so_ down on Lucifer. It’s like he’s revelling in the evidence against him, and going out of his way to make things worse. I know I shouldn’t let work come between us, but… Lucifer is my friend, and he was my friend way before Marcus showed up. Marcus _knows_ that Lucifer is important to me.”

“Duh, yeah. If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.”

Chloe got the reference. Hey, she was a kid of the 90s.

“I think, deep down,” said Chloe, “Marcus knows as well as you and I that Lucifer didn’t commit these crimes. He claims he has his reasons for pursuing the case against him, but I just don’t get why he’s being so…” She pressed her lips together, seeking the right word, before settling on, “ _mean_.”

“Yeah, he can certainly be that.” Ella pulled a face that suggested she knew all too well, and which did nothing to soften Chloe’s sentiments toward Marcus. “But, ya know, the whole “Lucifer is guilty” campaign might just be because he’s so head-over-heels in love with you. I mean, he was totes green-eyed monster over Lucifer’s relationship with you before all this even started.”

“He was?”

“Oh yeah, believe me, he was just as envious as Lucifer has become since you and Marcus got it on.” She waggled her eyebrows. “It’s pretty hot, Decker. You should just got them to strip their shirts off and fight over you. Or they could wrestle in mud. Or jelly.”

Ella’s eyes misted slightly. She evidently relished the mental image—which Chloe couldn’t help appreciating slightly—before snapping herself back to the present.

“This is serious, Ella. I’ve rarely been so stumped as what to do next.”

“Go talk to Marcus. Tell him he’s got nothing to fear from Lucifer, and maybe he’ll get off Lucifer’s back.”

“I thought I’d made that clear.” Chloe sighed. Marcus was a serious guy, more emotionally mature than Lucifer, or so she’d thought. Moreover, his harsh treatment of Lucifer had pushed her away from him, rather than brought them closer. It made no sense on any level. Few of the events in the past few days had.

There was definitely something missing. Something that Marcus and Lucifer both knew and refused to tell her. God, they were _both_ so infuriating.

Ella had returned her attentions to the microscope. “Fasten your seatbelt, Decker. Because _this_ might just be a bullet-train ride to breakthrough city.”

Chloe observed as Ella measured the talon then froze. As she swivelled her gaze back to Chloe, her eyes grew huge. “Woh,” she muttered. She scribbled down some figures in a table, her hand shaking, her writing wobbly. “Woh. This is huge. You have no idea how huge this is.”

“Tell me!” Ella’s prevarication was too much for Chloe’s raw nerves.

Ella puffed out a few short breaths, clearly trying to calm herself. “Okay, these weird-shit talons found at all the crime scenes. So, I reckoned initially they belonged to an animal, but I couldn’t find any match among creatures current or extinct, and now… I’m not so sure they belong to any earthly animal at all.”

“What are they then?”

“Decker!” She braced Chloe’s arms, shaking her. “They’re still growing. The creature has shed them… but they’re still growing!”

“How can that be?”

“It _can’t_ be! No part of any _earthly_ creature’s nails or claws grow like that once detached, but…” She trailed off, worrying her lower lip as she searched Chloe’s face. “According to all the ancient texts, demon talons keep growing after they’ve been severed.”

“No, no, no.” Chloe broke free and began to pace the lab. “What do you mean demon talons? Demons don’t exist. They _don’t_. Apart from in Lucifer’s crazy imagination. Doesn’t he say Maze is a demon?” And hadn’t Maze been ranting on about a sex demon being behind the attacks. “But it’s just Lucifer’s usual bullshit. I can’t be tr—”

“Science doesn’t lie.” Ella’s unusually snappy tone stopped Chloe in her tracks. Chloe _was_ seeking something both Marcus and Lucifer were concealing from her. Could this really be it?

“Decker,” said Chloe, “it could be time we started believing Lucifer’s bullshit.”

***

Lucifer thudded the cell door with the side of his fist. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of new furniture in here tonight? I can offer unlimited bribes—yummy drugs, cold hard cash, whatever your poison is. Just as soon as I get out of here.” He added the final part in an undertone, then thumped the door again, harder. “Guards! Guards?”

No answer came, save some swearing from the inmate of the adjoining cell. Lucifer lay himself back down on the bottom bunk, now cleared of debris but still uncomfy and hard. Amenadiel squatted on the floor, sorting through the remnants of the upper bed frame. He meticulously examined each piece of broken metal, in case they provided a suitable stand-in for a celestial blade.

“Will you please stop making such a bloody rumpus,” said Lucifer. “You’ve not improved my situation by coming here, and you’ve made your own way worse.”

“I don’t believe so, Luci. I doubt any demon likes the taste of angel.”

“Fallen angel,” pointed out Lucifer for the umpteenth time. “You’re not so different from me now.”

“Then it can choke on me first. I might have more resistance. You’re already weakened by this thing.”

“I am not. Much. Plus, I was way more powerful to start with.” Lucifer mulled over the prospect of jumping up and punching his brother, just to prove his point. But his aching body wasn’t as enthusiastic as his temper. “The least you can do is stop clattering around let me get some sleep.”

Amenadiel twirled about a rusted bar as if it was a priceless sword, then shrugged. He leaned the bar up against the bottom of the bed. “Very well. Budge over then.”

Lucifer rolled onto his back, spreading himself over as much of the mattress as possible. “You broke your bunk. I’m not sharing mine.”

“I can’t sleep on the concrete floor. Come on, Luci, please?”

“No. There’s barely room for me.”

In the end, Lucifer gave in, chiefly to stop Amenadiel whining. Lucifer found himself pressed up against the cold, breezeblock wall. Because it was such a tight fit, Amenadiel ended up nestled behind him, one arm draped over Lucifer’s body—Ugh! Lucifer couldn’t believe he was _spooning_ with his brother. Dr. Linda would have her work cut out helping him get him over this.

Still, as much as he’d never admit it out loud, he’d been in far more unpalatable spots. Equally regretfully, he conceded that having Amenadiel close was… not a comfort, no, never that. But there was something reassuring about knowing he wasn’t alone in facing this thing. In knowing that Amenadiel, in an inept, clunky fashion, had his back.

Their breathing fell into rhythm together exasperatingly naturally. Very soon, Lucifer drifted off into a far deeper and more pleasant slumber than that which Amenadiel had originally interrupted.

***

Lucifer awoke to the now familiar sensation of being carried. He knew what was happening, and his every sinew wound tight. At least the thing was feeding on _him_. For now, offering himself was still the best thing he could do.

He recalled what Amenadiel had told him—that this thing could kill even the devil, if it grew too strong. He’d not been weakened so far, though. He refused to believe it, as he refused his fear, although the demon had grown strong indeed to control the devil, to manipulate him so effortlessly. The demon let Lucifer’s legs drop then manoeuvred him about so he was pressed into the wall.

It struck Lucifer that, despite his paralysis, this encounter felt horribly real. Even more so their previous, nebulous encounters, caught half in a dream-world. The demons claws slashed through his prison clothing, ripping it aside. Then its body crushed into him, its huge erect member pressed like an iron rod against his rear.

The formerly impenetrable dam that held Lucifer’s fear at bay broke, and terror overwhelmed him in a sudden avalanche. He could _take_ a lot, but that thing was so big, it’d rip him in two.

He tried to cry out, to push back, to do anything to resist. He was helpless, even as the creature nudged forcefully at his entrance.

Light flashed—pure white and undoubtedly celestial. The pressure fell away, and Lucifer crumbled into a heap on the floor. Blinking toward the light, he managed a humiliatingly grateful whimper.

Amenadiel stood beside the bunk, brandishing one of those pathetic pieces of broken bunk. He’d no wings, but maybe Dad had finally answered a prayer or two, because he’d a definite divine glow about him. His expression evoked unsullied, avenging angel rage.

“You shall not touch him!” boomed Amenadiel, even as Lucifer realized the demon was still in the cell. It had retreated to a corner, a lurking, twitching shadow betrayed by those pin-prick eyes. Lucifer still managed to hope none of his other siblings were watching, because he’d never live this down.

Amenadiel raised his make-shift weapon. A large be-clawed limb crept from the shadows. Then they both charged each other. Light flashed again, thunder crashed, then darkness flooded the cell, the only sound remaining that of Lucifer’s ragged breaths.

“Amenadiel?”

He sensed the demon was gone, if only because he could move freely again. He levered himself up, using the wall as an aid. Fumbling, he located a switch and turned the lights on.

Amenadiel lay on the floor, stiff as a board, his eyes wide open. “Amenadiel!”

Lucifer threw himself to his brother’s side, shaking him. “Amenadiel, wake up! Please? Oh bugger, don’t be dead. I can’t have another brother’s death on my conscience.”

The next words that escaped Lucifer’s lips took him by surprise. Later, he was extremely glad Amenadiel hadn’t heard them.

“Especially not a brother I’d actually miss.”

***

As Chloe drew up outside Marcus’s apartment building, her mind still boggled from Ella’s revelation.

The talons couldn’t be growing on their own. There must be a rational explanation, maybe some kind of slow chemical reaction. There _had_ to be some precedent in science—didn’t worms keep wiggling once they’d been chopped in two?—or this was an amazing scientific breakthrough. In which case, good for Ella. Chloe hoped she’d get the recognition she deserved, and that she managed to use her breakthrough to somehow prove Lucifer was innocent. 

Because demons, angels, devils… whatever supernatural shit one wanted to conjure.

They. Didn’t. Exist.

With an effort, Chloe focussed on the present. There also _had_ to be some kind of explanation for Marcus’s behaviour, beyond a juvenile envy of Lucifer. If there wasn’t, he and Chloe were definitely over. In her head, she’d already split with him, so she had to know either way to snuff out any remaining hopes.

She made her way up the steps to his front door, and buzzed. Footfalls drew closer, and then Marcus opened it, and said, “Shit!”

“Okay. _That_ shoots beneath my already low expectations of this visit. You and I need to talk.”

Marcus dragged his fingers through his hair, agitated. “Yeah, okay. Just not here. If I’d know you were this desperate, we could’ve talked at the precinct, or a restaurant, some crowded public place.” He glanced fretfully over the head, scanning from left to right. “It’s not safe here.”

“Safe from what?” Her behaviour freaked her out, but she wasn’t going to be fobbed off. “If you won’t let me in, I’ll say it here on the doorstep. What’s going on with you? Everything was going great, and now you’re pushing me away. And how you’ve treated Lucifer is beyond the pale. Charlotte Richards told me you roughed him up in interrogation. Yeah, I get that she’ll say anything to help her client, but given the way that you’ve behaved lately, I honestly can’t see why I shouldn’t believe her. I need your side of the story now, or we’re through.”

Pierce’s groan seemed both world-weary and heartfelt. “You can believe what you want, but for what it’s worth, I _am_ sorry that I dragged you into this. I hope, one day, you’ll understand that—” His words died in a startled choke.

“What?”

Marcus clutched the doorframe so hard his knuckles whitened. A tendril of icy fear slithered down Chloe’s spine, then she turned around, following his line of sight.

On the guttering of the building opposite, crouched a dark shape. It instantly reminded her of the grainy image of a cloaked figure she’d watched on the CCTV with Dan. Slowly, it unfurled massive wings. Okay, _not_ a cloak. Even as her pulse pounded with a wild fear, she tried to convince herself it was an enormous bird, perhaps an eagle, though surely the bulk of its body was far too great. 

And those eyes. 

Chloe never forgot those eyes, two pinpricks of sapphire-blue light piercing through the gloaming. Just like in Ella’s picture. Plus _that_ acrid, odious smell—it saturated her senses, unifying with her fear to catch in her throat and make her want to gag.

“Run!” yelled Pierce. “Drive away, Decker, that’s an order. I can handle this best alone.”

One glace at his petrified countenance, and Chloe obeyed. She dashed down the steps, leaped into her car, and turned the switch ignition. Even as she did, the creature launched from the guttering, gliding like a kite toward where Marcus Pierce waited. He’d grabbed a baseball bat from near the door and now swung it back, ready to strike.

Chloe’s rational mind was telling her to pull out her gun, to stay and defend Marcus, to fight whatever that _thing_ was. But that rational voice seemed faint and distant, somehow foreign to her own ears. Instead, spurred on by a terror starker than any she’d hitherto known, Chloe floored the accelerator and drove away.


	7. Chapter 7

_Tuesday Morning_

Chloe barely slept, so had already been awake when Dan called at 5 a.m.

“There’s been another set of murders,” said Dan. “Same MO as they’ve charged Lucifer for. And you won’t believe who was found at the crime scene this morning? The Lieutenant! Shit, Chloe, he seems okay, but what the heck is going on here? I don’t know if this gets Lucifer off the hook, but it’s getting really scary now. This sociopath is targeting the police.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.” She sounded cool and collected, belying the fact she was a complete mess. She’d heard Ella’s revelations. She’d _seen_ the culprit at Marcus's last night, and she saw that… _it_ … had not been human. Since the resolution of the Palmetto Street affair, she’d rarely doubted her own judgement or eyes. Now she didn’t know what to think.

Winged demons. The supernatural. How she yearned to believe they existed only in Trixie’s more macabre bedtime stories. She wasn’t Fox Mulder. She didn’t _want_ to believe, but she’d a horrible notion she might have to.

And poor Marcus, what had happened to him after she’d left? Likely, the creature had put through Marcus through an ordeal similar to Lucifer’s. However badly Marcus had acted, he’d not deserved this. She couldn’t help beating herself up that she’d deserted him to his fate.

She climbed out of her car, squinting behind her shades across another beautiful hilltop vista. This _thing_ enjoyed a kill with a view…Ugh, and there it was. That now familiar yet still horrific stench. As she breathed it, her stomach flipped. Forensic staff swarmed everywhere, but she couldn’t see Ella. She spotted Marcus talking to a couple of the detectives to whom he’d assigned the case, after he’d taken Chloe off it.

On seeing her approach, Marcus broke off his conversation to come meet her. “Decker, you’re not supposed to—”

She got close enough so she could speak in an undertone, noting he looked like he’d had a rough night. He was dressed in jogging bottoms and an LA Lakers t-shirt, way too small, so clearly not his. The fabric strained around his biceps, though Chloe was way beyond being distracted by that sort of thing. Well, almost.

“You have to get the charges against Lucifer dropped,” said Chloe. “He was clearly another victim, like you. I mean, _you_ saw the killer last night. I saw it too.”

“Shit! It would be better if you just forgot about that.” Marcus rubbed his forehead wearily and went to turn away. Chloe grabbed his wrist, jerking him back with a force that startled him.

“How _can_ I forget? What was that thing?”

He appraised her slowly. “You believe in what you saw?”

“I trust my eyes, Marcus. Now, are you going to come clean with me, or do I have to walk away and find out for myself. Maybe I should ask Lucifer?”

“Chloe, you are _so_ not ready.”

Despite his trauma, she wanted to slap him. “Ready for what? Believe me, I want a rational explanation for what I saw, but I’d rather have the truth.”

He pulled her farther away from the crime scene, to the shade beneath a clump of trees. He leaned back against the trunk with an air of utter world-weariness that stirred her sympathies again.

“That thing,” he said, “is a demon. A sex demon, to be precise, which preys chiefly on men, though it’ll assault women too. It’s been attacking and killing people since the fourteenth century, when… a very foolish man summoned it, believing it would break a curse.”

“That sounds like a nightmarish fairy-tale,” murmured Chloe. “By “preying” I assume it seeks sex with them.”

“Yeah, it _makes_ them want it. Usually. Sometimes, it just doesn’t care. Human mythology would label it a succubae, but the truth is a little more complicated than the legends make out.”

Chloe felt as if she was outside her body, looking down on a scene from a TV show or movie. She grounded herself by being a cop, being professional, if just to appease her instinct to shake her head and walk away. “How do you know so much about it?”

“Let’s just say this isn’t my first encounter with it.”

There was a beat; Chloe’s heart instinctually bled for him. “I’m so sorry. If you ever need to talk about what you’ve been through, I’ll always be ready to listen.” She wondered who was most likely to open up about their ordeals – Lucifer or Marcus? Marcus stared to the far horizon, unsettlingly blank. “Okay. So, do you have an idea how to stop this thing?”

“Believe me, if I had, I’d have done it an age past.”

“Great.” She folded her arms and jutted her chin, the little patience she had left with him growing thin. “Yet you were prepared to let Lucifer take the fall for this, even though he was clearly a victim too.”

Marcus mumbled something beneath his breath that sounded very much like, “He can take it.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Marcus. “I suppose there’s a picture of me making out with the other victims, just like with Lucifer?”

“I don’t know,” answered Chloe. “You took me off the case, remember?” Something else struck her, and she pushed for answer. “How come you and Lucifer survived, when everyone else is dead?”

“You are still _so_ not ready, Decker.”

She might actually have slapped him this time, if the Chief of Police hadn’t strode up, tottering on a pair of killer heels and flagged by a sizable team of uniformed officers. “Lieutenant Pierce, you need to come down to the station to make a statement. You are no longer in charge of this case. Rather than assigning it to another Lieutenant, I will be overseeing it personally.”

“What about Lucifer,” Chloe asked her, as Marcus was led away. “Will the charges against him be dropped now?”

“In the light of new evidence, I will be reviewing the charges against Lucifer Morningstar.” She regarded Chloe coolly. “You go home, Decker. You won’t don’t do your colleagues any good poking your nose in, and could compromise the chain of evidence.”

“Okay,” said Chloe, but she’d be damned if she’d obey the woman. She had to see Lucifer, above all to check if he was alright. Even in jail, he might not be safe from this thing. She also hoped Lucifer would share what Marcus would not. Though it brought a lump to her throat, it occurred that he may have already shared more than she’d believed.

Ella’s words kept echoing though her mind. _“It could be time we started believing Lucifer’s bullshit.”_

She tried Ella on her cell, but no answer. As she hung up, a caller’s name flashed up. Charlotte Richards.

“Decker,” Chloe answered, still wondering at how calm she managed to sound. As if the groundwork of her whole existence hadn’t just shattered beneath her feet.

“Chloe, thank goodness. I’ve got to make this quick. I’m calling from the hospital.”

“Is it Lucifer? Oh my God—”

“No, it’s not Lucifer. It’s Amenadiel. He’s in a coma, and the prison governors want to charge Lucifer with assaulting him. If Amenadiel doesn’t wake up and give his version of the story, the charges might stick. I’m going to head back to the prison to see Lucifer. Can you meet me there? I’m almost at a loss.”

Panic surged through Chloe, and this time she failed to keep it from her voice. “Okay. I’m on my way.”

***

Lucifer sat on the bottom bunk, slumped forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He nurtured his fury, because that was by far the most comfortable of his emotions right now. When said anger caused a furious tear to roll down his nose and drip into his lap, something deep inside sagged then gave. He snarled up toward the heavens, incandescent.

“Dad? I doubt you’re deigning to listen, but just on the off-chance… You’ve had some great laughs at my expense over the years, and I appreciate now you’re having this one at Amenadiel’s expense. To a certain extent, I can see the funny side.” He rose to his feet, fists clenched, and yelled at the top of his voice. “But _this_ is getting out of hand.”

No answer, naturally. Although Lucifer had been feeling better that morning, having _not_ been ravaged by the demon—although at what cost to Amenadiel, who knew?—a sense of nigh defeat overcame him. He sat back down, leaning farther forward this time, to smother his face in his arms. “I must be losing it,” he murmured. “I’m talking to the man who permitted the existence of Hitler and Stalin, and threw Bob Marley, Amy Winehouse and all the rest into the 27-club.” He looked up again. “It’s all a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Lucifer didn’t miss the irony. Folk often accused him of the same. The notion that he might have something in common with the old man after all made him even more wretched. Convulsive, furious sobs wracked his frame. In all honesty, he didn’t know exactly what he was so cross about, although the candidates were many—Amenadiel’s plight, the prospect that the demon could’ve gone after Cain and thus killed the Detective. Or any other poor innocent. Just as vexingly, he’d not a clue why he was _crying,_ not bashing his fists into the walls, an outlet for his pent-up anger that he much preferred. He blamed the after-effects of being taken by the demon for his weakness, and that made him madder still.

He was beginning to rein himself in, curled in in a corner with his arms hugging about his knees, when he heard the heavy key turning in his cell door. He swiftly wiped his face on his tangerine orange sleeves, and staggered to his feet.

Before the cell door had swung fully open, the Detective had slipped in. Lucifer propelled himself forward into her arms before he could check himself, and pulled her into a tight embrace. She hugged him back, and despite her slight frame, he absorbed her warmth, her support, her comfort. He screwed his eyes closed and rested his cheek on the top of her head, inhaling the fresh mid-range-shampoo scent of her hair. Oh, how he adored…

The realization of what horrible danger he’d put her in, halted his overwrought musings in their tracks. He pried her away from him, bracing her at arms-length. He drunk in the sight of her anew, and it all but broke him, because he knew what he had to do next.

If he couldn’t get rid of this demon that preyed on him, he must keep her away from him.

Forever, if he had to.

“Lucifer, are you okay? Oh my God, you look dreadful—"

“Oh, come on! Nobody has ever rocked an orange onesie with so much panache.” He dabbed his face again with those horrid tangerine cuffs, hoping he’d erased any signs of those tell-tale tears. “I’m, uh, a bit sweaty. It’s hot in here. Now, Detective, you _must_ leave."

“We’re all leaving,” said Charlotte Richards, who Lucifer hadn’t even noticed follow the Detective into the room, much as he’d not even registered when the cell door had closed them all in. “Your brother is fine.”

Lucifer bit back a flippant comment, implying he’d not given a fig either way. It would’ve been a huge lie.

“Amenadiel woke up and said you didn’t touch him, so you won’t be charged. There’s also a good chance that the murder charges will be dropped. I managed to get a judge to grant you bail.” Charlotte winced. “At a price.”

“Good job you’re rich, Lucifer,” said the Detective. “We have to work on this together. I, uh, I I know now that this isn’t an ordinary case.” She leaned in, speaking sotto voce. “Last night, I saw the creature, or whatever it is, that attacked you. It attacked Marcus too. I think it’s why Marcus has been pushing me away.”

She knew.

She…. Knew. No… she couldn’t know. She mustn’t ever… Well, actually, he did want her to know some day, to accept the truth of _him_. He’d craved it, not a few weeks passed. But not like this, with so much at stake. He couldn’t handle it, not now.

He stepped back from her, his breaths coming hard, harsh and fast. “This creature. Do you understand what it is?” He was beginning to yell. “Can you even _start_ to understand?”

“Yes, I think can. I don’t have much choice. Please, don’t get upset.” She reached out to him, but he edged farther away.

“Did it come here last night and attack Amenadiel? Did it attack you too?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t tell her about what’d happened last night, about any of his encounters with that thing. For some odd reason, he told himself it would be “indecorous.”

She appeared to take his silence an affirmation. She said, “I won’t let it hurt you again, Lucifer. It’s a heck of a lot to take in, but we’ll get through this.”

Lucifer backed up against the wall, as the Detective continued talking. Rather than interrogating him about the ins and outs of celestial beings, however, she began wittering on about… _bloody Cain_.

“Marcus has refused to see me out of work since this whole affair began. I believe now he was trying to protect me from this… thing. He won’t tell me everything he knows, though. So, Lucifer, please… will _you_ share?”

It took a few moments for Lucifer to get his head around this next revelation. After all that’d happened, it seemed Marcus Pierce hadn’t been endangering the Detective after all. He’d been trying to protect her, much as Lucifer had, and that sent Lucifer spiralling further toward despair. He’d wanted to tell her Marcus was the villain who’d summoned this thing, who’d put her in peril. Now he learned that Marcus had fundamentally done the same thing as he had—pushing Chloe away to protect her—vilifying him wasn’t so easy.

His only remaining trump card was to tell the Detective that which Cain was too cowardly to say.

Their true identities.

“Lucifer, you’re always talking about angels and devils and demons,” said the Detective. “If that is anything more than a crutch to help you handle your life, then please, now is the time to share.”

“Why don’t you ask Charlotte?” snapped Lucifer. Maybe he was a coward, too.

Charlotte shook her head. “No, I don’t think it’ll be right coming from me. If there’s one thing a lawyer knows, it’s when to talk, and when to keep her mouth shut.”

“Please?” said the Detective, sweeping her gaze between them.

He couldn’t meet her eye, nor even that of Charlotte, who waited, far too calm and collected.

He’d so often wished the Detective could accept the truth. Yet now she was sniffing too close. If she could accept the existence of a demon, of evil incarnate, then it was only a short step for her to accept that _he_ was the devil.

What if he lost her forever? Maybe he could cope with that, because it was better than seeing her hurt. And hurt she would be, if she stayed near him, whether by the hand of the demon or by his own mistakes. Whether she could accept the full truth or not, he couldn’t gamble her safety just to keep her close.

“Lucifer, what _is_ it?” she pleaded. “I’m ready to listen. I will believe you, I promise.”

He looked above her head, toward Charlotte.

“I’m free to go?” he asked.

“Sure,” said Charlotte “There’s some paperwork to sign, but that’s it. For now."

“Thank you, Ms Richards. Please commence the process. I would like to get out of this squalid institution.”

Charlotte called back the prison guard, then slipped out to speak to him, leaving Lucifer and the Detective momentarily alone.

“We can talk better when we get out of here,” said the Detective, and he could sense her frustration boiling beneath her sympathetic manner

He stood ramrod straight and adjusted his cuffs, as if they were a Prada suit. “I appreciate you want to help me,” he said primly. “But you can’t. It’s quite impossible. Whatever you want to believe, you have to trust me on this.”

“But Lucifer, this is the time to—”

“Detective, please go!” He reared over her as he bellowed, so she startled and shrank away. “You think you’ve seen dangerous things, Detective? I’m darker and more dangerous than any of them. I’ve told you a thousand times—I’m the devil.”

“I-I can’t believe that.”

_So much for “I will believe you.”_

“I’m telling you the truth. I _always_ tell the truth.” He drilled his features into a mask of rage. Devil face or no, he was aware how intimidating he could be. And right then, he wanted her fear and loathing much more than her help. “Go!” he roared.

She ran to the cell door and hammered on the back of it. Her final glance over her shoulder cut him to the marrow, and a final treacherous sob caught in his throat.


	8. Chapter 8

_Tuesday Evening_

Maze paced the penthouse, equipped with far more blades than she had clothes. She spun a couple in her hands, and tucked others around the waist of her low-cut black trousers.

“We’ll annihilate it this time,” she said. “We’ll totally be ready. All we have to do is stay awake and steer clear of any sex.” She paused, the latter notion blatantly troubling her. “Unless you want sex now. You know, as a warm up?”

Lucifer sat at the bar, knocking back his sixteenth shot of vodka, too busy brooding to answer. Vodka wasn’t his preferred tipple, but its brutish zest suited his mood, plus he had to catch up on the drinking opportunities he’d missed whilst in jail. Unfortunately, his still-more-human-than-usual constitution wasn’t appreciating the onslaught. His head throbbed. _Again._ But he didn’t much care, because the liquor was drowning his “feels” and helping him focus on vengeance, which was all that mattered now.

He was looking forward to making this demon pay. He wanted to make Cain pay too, which wouldn’t put him in the Detective’s good books, but so be it. The future of their partnership already looked bleak. Since he’d roared her head off, he wondered he’d ever be back in her good books again.

One of Maze’s blades whizzed inches from his nose. Target practice, he assumed, but who knew with Maze? Now she was chummy with the Detective, she’d doubtless be taking her side against him, sooner or later.

He pitied the Detective; he really did. Soon she’d discover she’d been caught in a love triangle with the Devil and the world’s first murderer. Then again, she _was_ a homicide detective, so she could write the affair with Cain as a useful research project. As for him, she’d doubtless want nothing more to do with him. Much like everybody else who’d ever meant anything to him.

More vodka was required. He cracked open another bottle and filled his row of half-a-dozen shot glasses to their brims.

The only consolation, he mused, was that Cain would be even more miserable. And, speak of the immortal-but-vastly-inferior-to-the-devil, Cain now stepped out the elevator.

Lucifer had summoned him as soon as he’d got back to the penthouse, though the snivelling varmint’s obedience was still a small surprise. Probably something to do with Lucifer threatening to reveal Pierce’s Sinnerman identity. He suspected more people might believe that nasty little fairy-tale now.

“This’d better be good, Lucifer” said Pierce.

“Oh, I intend to make it so.”

“The charges against you have been dropped, and I’ve been suspended from the LAPD. I don’t see what else we can do about anything. Revenge on me will achieve nothing."

“I think not. And I believe you’re missing the point, _Cain_.”

Lucifer slammed down his glass, and took two long paces across the floor. Next instant, he had Pierce slammed up against the wall, a single hand clutched tight at his throat. It still took more effort than usual, but this time Lucifer hadn’t got his hands cuffed behind his back. Neither had he been fully sucked by the demon for a couple days, which was more than could be said for Pierce. Lucifer could smell the demon all over him, and Marcus looked… like Hell. He’d clearly been well ravaged, but Lucifer refused to let himself crumble beneath the weight of empathy. Both he and Cain were big and bad enough to deal.

“How many people are you going to let die before you stop this thing?”

“I-I can’t stop it.” Pierce struggled to talk; Lucifer loosened his hold slightly. “Years ago, when I first summoned it, I did try, but there’s just no way.”

“You’ve not tried hard enough. There _is_ a way to destroy it, and only you can do it.”

“I don’t see how I c-can control a demon when the devil can’t.”

Lucifer released Pierce’s throat, but only to ply a sweet right hook. Marcus’s head thwacked back against the wall, the whites of his eyes flashed up. Hmm, vengeance _was_ fun, but he mustn’t indulge himself too far. Lucifer waited for Marcus to refocus before continuing.

“Before he rendered himself useless, my brother found the solution to _your_ problem in a medieval text. It described how the one who summoned a demon—and only that one soul—can summon it back in order destroy it. All you have to do, is perform a ritual. As for me, yes, I should have been able to send it back with a monumental kick up its butt, if it hadn’t got to me first.”

“Where did you find out about the ritual to destroy it?” Marcus gaped up, mildly incredulous, from where he slumped against the wall. “I’ve been looking for nearly seven centuries, seeking high and low for a way to get that thing off my back.”

“I admit, the book _has_ been in my private collection for some time, so it wasn’t _entirely_ your fault. But if you’d worked with me from the start on this, we could’ve got it sorted. Instead, you made it about you and I, and some absurd power struggle. Which was never a struggle, by the way. I’ve always been on top.”

“Nice pun, but I don’t think so, Lucifer.” Finally recovering himself, Marcus rose and shoved Lucifer away so roughly he stumbled backward. “This has _never_ been about us. It’s always been about _her_.”

His words stung, because they contained more than a kernel of truth. Although there was one major difference between them, which Lucifer all but spat in Marcus’s face: “You’ve never given a damn about _her_.”

“Maybe I’ve not cared as much as she deserved, but I _never_ put her at risk. I just said that to taunt you. And have _you_ ever given a damn? Really? Come on, you’re the most egotistical, narcissistic self-worshipper in the history of time, and she only interests you because she won’t sleep with you. If you ever fucked her, she’d be history, and I bet she knows it.”

Lucifer grabbed the front of Marcus’s lapels, smashing him back against the wall again. “You know nothing about the Detective and I—"

Maze forced her way between them, pushing Lucifer off. “As much as I’d love to wedge myself between you two for a hate-sex threesome, you need to get over each other. It’s getting dark. Let’s get the ritual set up and destroy this piece of dirt. Then maybe we’ll get back to that hate-sex threesome.”

“Agreed,” growled Pierce.

Lucifer sniggered; he couldn’t help himself. “Marcus, darling, I always knew that’s what you really wanted from me.”

“That’s not what I’m agreeing to, and you know it—"

“Whatever you’re all agreeing to, I’m in.”

At the sound of Amenadiel’s deep voice, Lucifer whirled about. He hastened to greet his brother, who grinned and threw his arms wide. Lucifer baulked at the last second, pulling back to avoid an overenthusiastic hug he might never live down. Amenadiel had best keep quiet about the cell-bunk snuggling, or else.

Rebuffed, Amenadiel assumed a grave mien. “How can I help, Luci?”

“You just agreed to four-way hate sex, but we’ll put that on a backburner for now,” said Lucifer. “With regards to tonight’s plan, I think it would be best if you got out of here. Given how much help you were last time.”

“Actually, I _did_ defend you and save your precious ass. I drove the demon away, and at great personal cost.”

Lucifer cringed, mainly because Maze would mercilessly take the piss later about the arse-saving. He also hated Pierce knowing he’d ever needed his brother to defend him.

“I’ve got this covered,” he snapped. “Pierce here is going to perform the ritual, Maze and I are going to whop it’s backside if needed. I really can’t see any further need for your Gandalf impressions.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Amenadiel folded his arms and dug his heels in. Lucifer tried but failed to shove him back toward the elevator, which, for some reason, had just started opening yet again. “If you have any glitches with the ritual, at least this time it’ll be four against one.”

On cue, the elevator disgorged the Detective. “How about five against one,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” Lucifer raked his hair in exasperation; it was even harder to restrain himself from hugging her than it had been with Amenadiel. “I told you to stay away.

He could’ve handled an angry scowl. The hurt look she offered in its place lanced him as deeply as her parting shot in the cell had. Professional and calm, she then addressed the rest of the company. “I don’t know what dark shit you’re all dabbling with, but I need in. Like Amenadiel, if there’s anything I can do to help, I have to do it.”

“Yeah, you can help. By listening to Lucifer and leaving right now.” Maze began bundling the Detective toward the elevator, evidently hoping to succeed where Lucifer had failed.

“No. Not without a good reason.” Digging her heels in—Maze couldn’t have been bullying her too hard—she slammed her attention back onto Lucifer. “You’ve been talking about this supernatural shit ever since we met. Then the shit gets real, and you won’t let me help. Why?”

“Oh, for goodness sakes, I’ve told you time and time again. I’m the devil. Do you really want to mess with the Lord of Hell?”

“He is telling the truth,” added Amenadiel, momentarily drawing the Detective’s penetrating stare from Lucifer. “I’m an archangel, by the way,” he added, with a hint of his old pomposity. “The most powerful of God’s angels.”

“He _used_ to be,” chipped in Lucifer, “now he’s just a useless, whining chump.” He pointed sideways at Marcus, who’d draped himself over the bar in order to help himself to Lucifer’s vodka. “And he’s Cain, the world’s first murderer. Oh, and she—” He indicated Maze, “she’s a demon, but, believe it or not, nothing like the sex demon we’re dealing with. But they’re all just the supporting the cast. Point is, I’M THE DEVIL!”

He threw his arms theatrically wide, and mustered his best devilish grin. She shook her head. “I’m willing to believe the unbelievable right now, but I won’t believe that. I mean, you’re a pain in the ass, Lucifer, you can be vain and selfish but—”

“Yes, thank you, Detective, I’m well aware of my bad points. They get a lot badder, believe me, and—”

“Let me finish, Lucifer. I believe in this demon because I’ve seen it. I’ve _smelt_ it.”

“Really?” Maze looked impressed. “Are you _sure_ you’re not an angel too?”

The Detective joined Lucifer in plying Maze with a hard look, and fortunately the topic was dropped there.

“You’ve got your issues,” continued the Detective, “but I’ve _seen_ that you’re not a bad person. I’ve worked with you for a while now, and odd stuff has happened, but nothing could make me believe you’re actually evil.”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Lucifer whacked his forehead with his palm; he felt like he was dashing himself against a brick wall.

Amenadiel stepped in, speaking to the Detective in hushed tones that Lucifer couldn’t hear. The Detective, arms folded, just kept shaking her head, indicating Amenadiel wasn’t having any more success than Lucifer. Pierce moved on to help himself to a large glass of scotch, apparently enjoying the show. Maze, meanwhile, whispered in Lucifer’s ear, “I can show her my demon face, if you like? It might help.”

“Not now,” said Lucifer. “If she doesn’t leave soon, you’re going to have to physically drag her somewhere else in case the demon comes up for munchies. I don’t think a peep at your half-rotten flesh will help with that.”

“Fair point.’

For the first time, Lucifer actually wished he had his accursed angel wings back, to help get through to her. He briefly willed them forth but to no avail; the demon had well and truly robbed him for now. He considered roaring in her face again, but found he’d not the heart for it. The fight had gone out of him; he felt nearly as drained as he had following ravishment by the demon.

“I don’t get it,” the Detective was saying. “How can Lucifer be the devil—the actual devil—and not be evil. Because I won’t believe he is evil.”

“You don’t have to believe that he’s evil, Chloe. I once did, but I was wr—”

Lucifer shoved Amenadiel out of the way. Roughness had failed, so he was prepared to give tenderness a chance.

“Detective, it’s all true.” He leaned down and took her face in his hands, surprised that she let him. She looked as shell-shocked as he was desperate. Her eyes brimmed with that sincerity and emotion that simply _got_ to him, tying his insides in exquisite knots, every time. “I’d show you, if I could, but I can’t. I really _am_ the devil, and they are all exactly what I said they are. And… to be honest, I don’t think this is the time and place to explain all that you are to me, because sometimes I hardly know myself. Every day you amaze me more.” He stroked his thumb across the softness of her cheek; she blinked at up him, tensing suddenly, and she shuddered. Could she be starting to believe?

He let his hold of her drop and stepped away. “It’s real, Detective, it’s all real. And that’s why you have to go. As far away as possible, but to a public place, somewhere light. Take Trixie to somewhere vile, crowded with human detritus and flooded by neon light—a fast food restaurant would be perfect. But just go. I _am_ the devil.”

She paled, edging farther from him, her trembling fingertips brushing her cheek where he had touched her. The truth was dawning on her, and he was losing her forever.

“I really am the devil.” He hammered home his own doom in small, broken voice.

She stretched the same trembling fingers toward him, then snatched them back. “If you’re the devil,” she breathed, “why have you got such beautiful angel wings?”

“Oh, for f’s-sake, really? Typical, don’t come when I call. Randomly spring up when I don’t.” Yup, his angel wings were back, hovering in the peripheries of his vision in all their fluffy, white glory. He retracted them with a huff. “That’s Dad’s twisted sense of humour for you.” Or it could be the demon messing with his powers, who knew? “Honestly, you have to trust me on this one. If we’re going to defeat this thing, you need to get yourself to somewhere safe. Far, far, from here.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with an angel.”

“Devil,” corrected Lucifer, gently taking her shoulders and steering her toward the exit. As the elevator door opened, she stepped in and turned back to him, her lips parted, seeking to articulate the unsayable. Her obvious affection and awe proved almost unbearable to him. She _still_ hadn’t seen the real Lucifer.

Hatred and abhorrence. That’s what he’d earn then.

The doors closed, and she was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, there's actually 3 more chapters after this... I forgot I'd set the chapters as 10 after I'd finished the original draft, and for ease of editing and narrative flow I divided it up a bit more. Whoopsie! Sorry!

The instant the Detective departed the penthouse, Amenadiel was all over Lucifer, patting him on the back. “Well done, Luci. You’ve got your wings back. Do you know what this means?”

“I told you,” snapped Lucifer. “It’s most likely Dad’s sick joke.”

“For once in all eternity, I agree with Lucifer,” said Pierce. “Your old man is a dick.”

“No, surely not,” said Amenadiel. “Despite all the damage this demon has wrought, Father has gifted Lucifer’s wings back to him exactly when we need them. Maybe we won’t even require the ritual, and you can just kick that thing straight back to Hell. How powerful are you feeling, Luci?”

“Only one way to find out.” Lucifer briefly considered punching Amenadiel, just for a laugh. He decided on Pierce, who having sated himself on spirits, now perched on a bar stall watching proceedings. Lucifer threw himself at Pierce, so they both tumbled to the floor, Lucifer on top. He punched Pierce on the nose.

Lucifer sat astride Pierce. “Did that hurt?”

“Yeah.” Pierce wiped his blooded nose. “But much the same as earlier, not quite top-notch supernatural levels of pain. Maybe your wings coming back isn’t your Father’s doing at all. It’s just that you didn’t get a demon pummel your ass last night. _I_ did, so you’re recovering. Possibly not fast enough, but who the heck knows?”

Pierce was right. Who bloody knew? Lucifer shrugged, then clambered to his feet. Feeling chivalrous, he offered a hand down to Marcus to pull him up after, and then they got down to business.

They cleared the furniture, and Maze scratched a pentagram on Lucifer’s flooring, which he considered sacrilege. It wasn’t the cost of repair that pissed him off, but he _hated_ having builders in. Amenadiel arranged a stupid amount of fat red wax candles in a circle around the pentagram, while Marcus swatted over the text he was going to recite.

By the time it was fully dark outside, they were ready to go. Maze waited in the shadows, literally armed to the teeth. Lucifer and Amandiel took position beside the bar, watching and ready to fight or intervene as necessary. Pierce sat cross-legged at the centre of the pentagram, the ancient grimoire rested in his lap, and began to chant.

His pronunciation of the Middle High German was _terrible_. Lucifer and Amenadiel tried to keep straight faces, then ended up smothering their laughter in their hands and each other’s shoulders.

Pierce broke off his chant. “Will you two please stop giggling like schoolgirls? This was never my native tongue.”

“Sorry,” said Amenadiel. “We’ll try.”

Lucifer, struggling to control his mirth, gave a loud hiccup. He covered his mouth with both his hands, and shook with glee.

“How old exactly are you two again?” Pierce restarted the incantation.

As he plunged deeper into the ritual, the temperature in the room dropped. The distant sounds of the city receded into a crisp silence. Lucifer, who’d never been impressed by this kind of ritualistic bollocks, poured himself a drink, earning himself a scolding look from Amenadiel. He poured one for Amenadiel too, and downed it when his brother silently refused.

When blue flames leaped up in the shape of the scratched pentagram, Lucifer grew marginally more interested, although not enough to put down his whisky.

“It’s working,” murmured Amenadiel. “The demon should be here any moment, then we just have to keep it distracted while Marcus finishes the ritual and destroys it forever.”

“I’ve got first dibs on that,” whispered Lucifer. “It finds me the most distracting anyhow. At least it has immaculate taste.”

An icy breeze whisked about the room, licking their faces and ruffling their hair, and setting the drapes billowing. Lucifer leaned forward, undeniably captivated, and trying to ignore the shoal of fish that’d taken flight in his stomach. The devil refused to do nerves.

A loud high-pitched noise like a police siren wailed suddenly in his ears. Before Lucifer had fully registered that this wasn’t the demon’s hypnotizing song, the penthouse’s sprinkler system burst into action. His landline phone started to ring.

“What’s happening?” asked Amenadiel.

Lucifer slammed down his drink. “We just set off the ruddy fire alarms and sprinkler system, that’s what’s happening.”

The sprinklers doused the blue flames, smothering then back into the floor so they formed a smudgy charred shape around a nonplussed Pierce, who now resembled a very large drowned rat. Lucifer hurried through what felt very much like an indoor rainstorm and answered the phone call, which was from the concierge.

“Yes,” confirmed Lucifer, “it’s a false alarm. Call off the fire brigade and please shut off that sprinkler system before it ruins everything I own.” Lucifer slammed down the receiver. “My books! Where’s the first folio Shakespeare? That’s not going to take water damage well.”

Lucifer sprinted for his bookshelves. Maze danced and laughed in the indoor rain. Marcus bitched beneath his breath, and Amenadiel sprinted for the sliding glass door onto the balcony to let out the thick clouds of smoke, which were making him choke. As the night air poured in, the sprinkler system and the alarm switched off.

And a shadow darker than midnight rushed through the opened door and into the room.

The demon.

It made straight for its favourite dish—Lucifer.

Lucifer crossed his arms in front of his face to defend himself and willed his wings forth. Right now, defence-wise, he’d take what he could get, and they at least might awe the thing—after all, a fully powerful angel could kill it.

Unfortunately, no wings proved forthcoming, and the beginnings of the ritual had just served to piss the demon off. It seemed angrier and hungrier than usual, not in any mood for any singing or foreplay. It ploughed into Lucifer, crushing him to the ground. Without further ceremony, it used its talons to rip away his shirt, then sank its fangs deep into the lifeblood at his throat. Pain seared through him, sharp and crippling, and then magnified as the fangs pierce deeper into his veins.

_Bugger_ , thought Lucifer, _is this really how it all ends? I’ve let a lowly demon steal so much of my power that it can kill me._

_Haha, Dad. Once again, very funny._

Physically, Lucifer couldn’t move; the demon had plied its old dream-world trick of paralysing him. Mentally, he reached for any power he had left, once more willing his wings, his devil form, any residue of power that might help. Coherent thought grew ever more difficult. His brain went fuzzy, his stomach tight and sick, the pain in his neck searing. Maze hurled herself on top of the demon, and Lucifer felt the jolt, the increase in the crushing pressure. Amenadiel was bashing at it too, but then Lucifer’s vision greyed. As he teetered on the brink of oblivion, three loud shots rang out.

And then, mercifully, everything faded to black.

***

“Please, mommy, I’m having a great time. Can I stay the night at Lily’s? Please?”

As Trixie pleaded down the phone, Chloe felt like she was being torn in two.

Lucifer was… an angel.

She’d seen his wings, and he _was_ an angel… fallen angel, whatever. She truly couldn’t believe he was the devil he said he was, but that was the least of her worries right then. He’d told her to run away, to take her daughter to somewhere bright and safe. But Trixie was already somewhere bright and safe, at a bowling alley with one her BFFs. Lucifer, meanwhile, seemed hellbent on putting himself into danger in order to best a supernatural demon that’d assaulted him multiple times already.

“Okay, monkey. You can stay if you wish. Let me speak to Lily’s mommy to check she’s happy and I’ll come pick you up in the morning.”

She headed back to Lucifer’s, driving way faster than was sensible. When she reached the bottom of elevator, however, she stopped dead. Her heart hammered against her ribs. It wasn’t just Lucifer who’d begged her to leave. The whole company had requested it of her—a demon, an angel, whoever Marcus was supposed to be, and Lucifer. And truly, whether he was an angel arraigned in snowy white or the Lord of Hell, who was she, little Chloe Decker, to argue?

_Do I go up or don’t I?_

Her fingertip hovered, undecided, above the button that would summon the elevator. That was when a desperate idea struck.

If she hadn’t gone insane, and this wasn’t a dream, then she must do something she’d not tried since she’d been a tiny child. She should pray.

She closed her eyes, pressed her hands together at her chest, and tipped her face toward heaven. “God? Jesus? Uh, Mary?” She cleared her throat, flustered. “Whoever up there is listening. I, uh, I know I’ve not been in touch lately but, please… What am I supposed to do?”

She held her breath; the rush of blood in her ears grew deafening. No answer came. She gritted her teeth, angry with herself above anything. Of course, no answer came. None of it was real, Lucifer and the others were deluded, or more likely, having a joke at her expense. It was time she returned to searching for logical explanations…

The elevator door dinged open in front of her. Even though a second ago it had been on the twelfth floor and she was damned sure she’d _not_ pressed that button to summon it.

After that, everything proved remarkably easy. When she stepped into Lucifer’s penthouse, she saw Maze first, slumped on her side, stiff as a corpse, both hands still gripping her blades. Pierce was incapacitated too, splayed in the middle of what looked like an enormous pentagram written in charcoal. Amenadiel was using one of Maze’s battle-axes to hack at the gnarly back of a huge, grey and winged demon, which had ensnared Lucifer in its talons like an eagle would a rabbit. The fangs it’d sank into Lucifer’s throat, however, were far more reminiscent of a vampire’s.

Chloe absorbed the scene, and repressed the scream of horror that shattered through her soul. She didn’t think, she reacted like a professional police officer, pulling out her gun and taking aim.

“Amenadiel, back off,” she shouted. “I can make the shot.”

Amenadiel pitched her a panicked glance, then obeyed. Calmly, she aimed and fired, and her bullet hit home. The demon ripped its mouth from Lucifer’s throat to emit a torturous wail. Where her bullet had struck, a white-hot ball of flame formed exploded like a mini nuke, sending forth tongues of lightning that ripped the creature to pieces, until, with a final keening wail, it vanished into nothingness.

She darted to where Lucifer had fallen, rolled him over… then froze. In front of her eyes, his face transformed from the most handsome she’d ever known, to the most horrific. Wizened, reddened, veiny, horribly burned.

The face of the devil.

“Chloe, it’s okay.” Amenadiel pawed at her shoulder. “It’s just his devil face. I believe the creature stole it from him, and now it’s back. It’s nothing to be scared about.”

No, no, no… This was _not_ nothing to be scared about. She’d been able to deal with demons, especially while they remained chiefly the enemy. In the past few hours, she’d at least partially rationalised the notion of Lucifer being an angel who believed he was bad.

But… not _this_. Lucifer’s beautiful face transformed into… No, no. no. This was hell, and she couldn’t handle it.

And then… then Lucifer transformed back into the beautiful man she’d believed she knew, but it didn’t matter. She’d _seen_ and the damage was done.

She remained lost in a stupor, when Amenadiel nudged her aside to attend to his bleeding, unconscious brother. Watching them, Chloe descended toward blind panic. She smothered a cry with both her hands, and then jumped to her feet and fled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how Chloe reacts to Lucifer's devil face..
> 
> I realize now I could have ended this story by having Chloe accept Lucifer when she first sees his devil face. However, I wrote this while re-watching end s3/start s4, and Chloe’s flight here is simply how she naturally reacted in my head. She has to go on a dark journey in the show, and I felt she would in these circumstances too. She’s not perfect, she has her doubts and demons (!) and that’s one of the things I love about her and that makes her human, real and interesting to write.
> 
> Basically, though, sorry for the prolonged angst. That said, one of the aspects I adore about Deckerstar is the conflict, self-denial and longing. For me, it's this journey, played out so uniquely by the Lucifer writers/characters/actors, that brings such power to their relationship and makes the sweet romance and HEA so wonderful as a goal. (Also, Deckerstar is the first het paring I’ve written since 2006—trust Lucifer/Deckerstar to could get a dyed in the wool slasher writing het again ;))

_Wednesday Morning_

“Trixie, just pack your favourite toys, and do it quick as you can. Mommy has got some bargain flights to somewhere exciting and you’re going to love it, but we don’t want to miss the plane, right?”

Chloe tossed a random selection of clothes into the opened suitcase on the bed. She had to get out of there. As far from LA as she could, because right now, she couldn’t even think. The solid grounds of truth that’d underpinned her entire existence had melted into slippery ice, and then, just as she’d learned to skate a little, the ice had shattered. Now she was being sucked into the frigid airless depths of an arctic ocean.

She couldn’t cope. Who could? She was a calm, collected person, and she hated that she’d been forced into a corner of irrationality and fear. And no, she wouldn’t pick up any of the missed calls, lists of which were piling up on her cell, and neither would she answer to door to whoever now banged relentlessly upon it.

“Mommy.” Trixie appeared in the doorway, clutching her little knapsack. “Somebody wants to get in real bad. They’re scaring me.”

“It’s okay, Trixie. Go to your room.” Trixie obeyed instantly and without question, which was totally off. Shame the poor kid was so perceptive. Chloe would rather her daughter _couldn’t_ tell that mommy was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Chloe?” the yell from outside wasn’t Lucifer, thank goodness. It sounded like Amenadiel. Even then, Chloe dithered. However, she was going to have to get out through that front door pronto, if she was going to get those flights. She had to get rid of him.

She popped on her gun-halter and a jacket to cover it. Then she opened the door, blocking the entrance with her body. For what it was worth, when she was confronted with six-foot-whatever of burly archangel. What could she do against him? Against _any_ of them?

“Chloe—”

“Please, just go,” she said. “I need space.” That was the understatement of the century.

“Lucifer needs you,” said Amenadiel.

And that was when Chloe totally lost it. “Needs me? How can _he_ need me? He’s… he’s never needed me. None of you ever had. Why did you have to crash into my life, screwing everything up? I have a kid! I can’t be messed around like this… and… and… as for _Lucifer_.” She spat out the name, as if were abhorrent to her… and she found that it was.

Part of her faintly recalled that Lucifer was hurt; she couldn’t process that. Right now, he scarcely seemed human to her. Because he wasn’t. That horrifying image of his devil face dominated her mind’s eye, and she hated it. She _hated_ him.

Amenadiel had opened his mouth, brows knitted, doubtless verging upon some reassuring platitude. Chloe got in first, and she just kept shouting, sheltering behind words that, deep down, she knew bore no resemblance to her true feelings. But they comforted her, and she needed that. “All he ever did was _use_ me. We had “moments,” we got close, and every time he pushed me away. He pushed me away again today. And I get it now. He’s not just some…creature, some… evil devil, or whatever. He’s a complete asshole.”

“You don’t mean that, Chloe. Yeah, Lucifer is sometimes selfish and prideful, but with you? No, I don’t think that’s fair on him. He’s pushed you away, time and time again, to protect you from the truth about himself, and for reasons that I’m sure always made sense to him at the time. He’ll do anything to protect you, but I think sometimes, without realizing it, he closes ranks to protect himself too. He’s been rejected and hurt… many times. Besides, if he really was thinking only of himself, _he’d_ stay away from _you_.”

She wanted to slam the door in his face, but she couldn’t help but be faintly interested in how the heck Amenadiel could justify that final, ludicrous suggestion. “What do you mean, he’d stay away from me?”

“I know this is a lot to take in, but you’re special to him. I mean, really special. We don’t know quite why, but you have some kind of power over him. When he’s near to you, he’s… not quite immortal. He can bleed. You make him vulnerable.”

Chloe stared at him. Yeah, that _was_ a lot to take in, on top of everything else. As her memory whirled through everything she’d been through with Lucifer, including that occasion early in their career together when she’d shot him, some mental cogs began to clunkily turn. But no, she couldn’t think about this. It made her head hurt, and she had flights to catch. She reached for her anger.

“Okay, so when the devil gets hurt, it’s somehow always _my_ fault?”

“That’s isn’t what I said. And you’re certainly not the only being who can hurt him. I used to be able to hurt him very badly indeed, before I, uh, fell. And that demon surely hurt him, more than we may know. The first time it got to him, it stole much of his powers and immortal life-force. It got harder and harder for him to resist and fight back, and I guess you being around him made him weaker still. But that’s not why he wanted rid of you today. He was scared for _you_. I doubt he even thought about the cost to himself.

“Doesn’t sound like Lucifer,” she mumbled, although she was starting to feel facetious. “Anyhow, Marcus was protecting me too.”

Amenadiel’s countenance soured. “Marcus doesn’t love you, Chloe. That man isn’t capable of love.”

“Is Lucifer?”

“That’s up to you to find out. But don’t you see, Chloe. You and Lucifer are somehow intrinsically linked, and that’s why only _you_ could kill the demon.”

“What?” She pinched the bridge of her nose; she was so tired, and she really just wanted all of this to go away. For her to return to the not-quite-simple but more-or-less ordinary life she’d had before Lucifer smashed it apart.

“I have a theory,” Amenadiel was saying, “that the demon had sucked away so much of Lucifer’s life-force, that it was sustained chiefly by his immortality, which only you can threaten. So, _you_ killed it. Chloe, I am beginning to believe you are an important part of Father’s overall plan. You are important to Lucifer, and right now, I think knowing you’re okay with him would help him a lot.”

She tried to work through what Amenadiel had just said. But any sense it did make was subsumed by one single, atrocious fact, which filled her chest cavity with ice. “He’s the devil,” she said, simply. “That is what I can’t deal with. I just… can’t.”

“You dealt with a demon. You coped with Lucifer’s angel wings.”

“That’s… that’s different,” she stammered. “Please leave me alone.”

Finally, her fear conquered her, and he slammed the door in his face.

***

Chloe’s next few months passed in a haze. She and Trixie drifted around Europe, where she found herself drawn toward tumbledown churches, toward crumbling sites of ancient pilgrimage; to dark crypts that terrified her, and to airy shrines which offered some peace. She knew she sought answers, but at the same time, she shied away from them. Even as the sharper edges of her pain and fear dulled, she simply wasn’t ready.

In Rome, she made her first confession in well over thirty years. She spoke to several priests, who drew out the story of her connection with Lucifer and treated her with great reverence. She was special, they affirmed. She was unique. She was one human soul who could kill the devil and rid the world of its greatest evil.

For a short while, she trusted them. Yet, each day she hurt a little less, and she found she could think about Lucifer a little more. She called Dan, who told her that the charges against Lucifer had been dropped, that the whole case had turned cold, and she was glad. But maybe Lucifer belonged in jail—if one could hold him. According to the priests, Lucifer’s devilish wiles had fooled her into seeing his actions as fundamentally good. The devil was a master of manipulation.

And yet…

She turned her back on the priests also, and settled in a little hill town, a hundred or so miles north of Rome. Living was mercifully cheap. She spent her days trying to come to terms with her lot, and scratching a living waitressing in cafes crammed with British and German tourists. And thus, on her single morning off in a week, she found herself sipping a cappuccino in the town square, hiding beneath her shades and a very broad-brimmed straw hat. She was watching Trixie playing with the local kids. At least Trixie still made her smile, and gave her a reason to keep seeking answers; to sort her head out and re-forge some kind of life.

Trixie was picking up the language way faster than Chloe was, although the poor kid often begged to go home. Facetime with Daddy just wasn’t the same, and Chloe knew she’d have to take Trixie back to LA sooner or later. But she still hadn’t gotten her head around everything. Maybe she never would. Maybe she should just send Trixie back to be with Dan, although then Trixie would be in a same city as _them_ without her protection, and the very notion made her shudder.

A motorcycle roared into the square and pulled up alongside the usual ranks of the local kids’ scooters. Chloe didn’t give it a second glance. Trixie was doing handstands and cartwheels with her friends, and was yelling at her Mom to watch.

A very large man in motorcycle leathers eclipsed her view. Chloe jumped to her feet, her hand flying to the spot where she suddenly wished she still carried a gun.

“Marcus,” she said, the calmness of her voice belying her inner turmoil. “Or should I say… Cain?”

Oh yes, she knew all about him now, about his long and tawdry history. The priests had many records of his nefarious deeds through the centuries.

“Please don’t call me that. Even if I deserve it.” His contrite expression was that of the seemingly ordinary guy she’d dated in LA, what felt like a lifetime ago.

“What name do you think you deserve?”

He sighed, sitting down at the next table. One of the other waitresses wandered over to take his order, and he asked for a triple-shot espresso. Chloe sat back down again too, her every nerve on edge, and keeping several chairs and the two tables between them.

“I wanted to explain my part in all of what happened,” he said. “Will you allow me to do that? I mean, you don’t have to believe me or anything.” He gave a resigned snort. “I personally wish _none_ of it was true.”

She listened, because she found she didn’t fear him, world’s first murderer though he was. And besides, she’d lost nearly everything. Save Trixie, she really had nothing else to lose, and somehow, deep inside, she still believed Marcus Pierce wasn’t _all_ bad.

***

Marcus had wanted her to love him so he could die. It sounded absurd, and it probably was.

He wriggled around the truth as uncomfortably as he wriggled on the delicate café chair, which seemed way too small to support his brawny build. Still, as he went over everything again and again, she began to comprehend. The matter that he confirmed something she’d learned from the priests—that _he_ was the Sinnerman—for now, remained something she couldn’t and wouldn’t analyse. Because he’d killed his own henchman, and made her so mad with Lucifer that she’d all but fallen into his, Pierce’s, arms. Because Lucifer’s warnings against him, which she’d so strongly repudiated, had all been correct.

No, too much. She couldn’t dwell on the ramifications, not yet.

“So, you admit you were using me,” she said. “And then you wanted Lucifer out of the way, so that I’d fall in love with you, and somehow make you vulnerable, like I make him vulnerable?”

The revelation washed through her, leaving astonishingly little emotional residue. Maybe she’d grown punch drunk, following so many mental shocks.

“Then I started to care,” said Marcus, stretching toward her. “That’s why I tried to keep you away from me, once the demon came back.”

Chloe laughed joylessly, glancing in Trixie’s direction to check she was still having fun. “You _started_ to care? So, when we first grew close, all those looks and touches and everything that passed between us… that was nothing. That meant nothing, really, did it?”

“Well, not nothing—”

“Whereas Lucifer knew I made him vulnerable, something he most likely _didn’t_ want.”

“I wouldn’t assume that,” mumbled Marcus. “Knowing Lucifer, he probably found it exciting or something. He just wanted to get you into bed, Chloe.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Chloe pulled the brim of her hat a little farther down over her eyes, shading out Marcus’s scrutiny as much as the sun. She wondered, as she had so many times of late, if the whispers in her soul concerning Lucifer’s innate goodness were devilish manipulations. She wanted more and more to believe that they weren’t. That Amanadiel had told the truth. That Lucifer had pushed her away all those times to protect her from the truth, and from himself. Because he wasn’t evil. He did care.

“Lucifer still wanted to be with me,” she murmured. “He fought for our partnership so many times, even when I thought I wanted rid of him.”

“Lucifer? Yeah, well, good job you’ve left him alone now.”

His lugubrious tone both irked her and worried her. “What do you mean?” 

“Didn’t you know? He’s ill.”

“How can Lucifer be ill? What’s wrong with him?”

“I haven’t exactly been privy to their inner sanctum,” said Marcus, “they’ve kind of closed ranks, but, uh, although you killed the demon, Lucifer never really recovered. Nobody knows why, but his full devil powers didn’t return. He totally lost control of his wings, and his devil face, then they disappeared altogether. Last things I heard, his brother feared he might be dying.” He must’ve read the horror on her face, because he spoke his final words gently. “Chloe, he could already be back in Hell.”

She stared at him, at a loss. And that was when she realized.

There was somebody else on this earth, other than Trixie, that would break her heart to lose. Even though she’d spent the last few months running away from him, and she couldn’t even think about him without spiralling into a tumult of fraught emotions and heartache.

The notion of losing Lucifer, of his leaving her alone in this world… it cleaved her heart in two. And what he must’ve gone through, after being ravaged by that demon, again and again. Her sorrow for him rushed back, and her stomach clenched. She felt sick. What had she done? How could she have deserted him after all he’d been through? She’d been scared… so very scared… and yet, what was she so frightened of?

Losing Lucifer. _That_ was her true fear, so shattering she’d not been able to even articulate it to herself, let alone confront it, although she'd barely smiled these recents months without him near.

“Chloe?” Marcus’s soft plea dragged her back to the present. He’d shifted his chair closer, and now he reached out as if to touch her. She shrank away. “Is there any chance you can forgive me? I know you probably hate me, but—”

“I don’t hate you,” she interjected, rather too quickly, but it was the truth. “You went through the same awful ordeal as Lucifer with this creature, and many more times. I’m truly sorry. You both… you’ve both suffered. But, Marcus, we can never have any future, and I don’t wish to ever see you again. I think, deep down, you know that.”

She didn’t finish telling him what she really thought of him, because it felt a little cruel somehow.

_You’ve both suffered atrociously, but you’re not the same. You’re not all wicked, Marcus Pierce, but Lucifer is the better man… devil… whatever he is. You could never be what he is to me, because I can never forgive you… but Lucifer?_

Chloe was suddenly so muddled, she couldn’t even recall what she needed to forgive Lucifer for. She had to stop running and go back to LA. For what it was worth.

She just prayed it wasn’t too late.


	11. Chapter 11

Lucifer fell, and he kept falling.

At first, after the worst of his malaise appeared to pass, the frustration was worse than the shivers, the aches and the on-and-off nausea of it. He hated not having the energy to get up, let alone to party, solve crime or to seek vengeance. Cain was out there, doubtless wrecking more lives, possibly pursuing the Detective, and he was stuck languishing like a sickly human. He hated how smoking made him cough and alcohol suddenly tasted worse than shit, especially first thing in the morning, when he most required a pick-me-up. Even coffee—with the merest smidgeon of brandy in it—no longer did the trick.

“I’ve endured way worse than this, when I first got to hell.”

He told this to Amenadiel pretty much daily, which was how regularly his stupid sad-eyed brother insisted on checking in on him. After the first few weeks, however, as his health declined, Lucifer realized he was chiefly saying it to make Amenadiel feel bad. Because, hey, his brother hadn’t bothered to check in on him back _then_. Not that he cared...

Excruciatingly, Amenadiel kept visiting. More and more often, he’d bring Linda with him. Linda would attempt to “talk” through everything that’d happened with the demon, and encourage him to eat healthily. Lucifer variously snapped at her and humoured her, depending on his mood.

One scorching LA morning, when the skies outside glowed a vivid azure blue, Linda and Amenadiel arrived at the penthouse together, the latter clutching a large bowl of fruit. Lucifer was lying on his couch. He’d not slept a wink all night. Each time he’d closed his eyes, gaudy phantoms had haunted him—demons, blood and hell, then the pain and violation, and the sound of _her_ screaming his name. Her voice oozed with hatred even whilst his own heart was torn from him and held, dripping, in front of his eyes, as if his mind had transmuted into a gory medieval fresco.

So, he’d pushed through to the dawn by forcing his reluctant body to participate in a little experiment.

He’d drunk a lot of wine and then a whole bottle of whisky. Then half of another to boot, and he was bloody irritated he’d not finished it, just _because_. Until recently, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Last night, forcing down the liquor had been almost as unpleasant as sawing off his own wings. He’d just staggered back from the bathroom, after a yet another bout of retching, when his unwanted guests arrived.

“Lucifer! Oh my…”

Linda rushed forward. Amenadiel, who moved as if attached to her side with a bit of string, had set his clottish features to their default “concerned but unsurprised” mode. Okay, actually, Amenadiel had discovered a slight variant on the theme this morning. As he dumped down his vitamin C-saturated offering, he looked bloody worried and mildly shocked, and Lucifer was almost proud. He must _really_ look a mess today. That said, he was struggling to lift his head from the cushion. Scratch that. He actually couldn’t lift his head; he was that weak. His breathing was lugubrious, effortful and slow. Humiliation compounded his misery.

They were both hovering over him now, too close, in his face. Linda cupped his chin, and was talking to him, but he couldn’t really take it in. Amenadiel was looking at the empty bottles, shaking his head.

“Are you two boning yet?” He forced out the slurring words, and just about managed a snigger.

Amenadiel—damn him—hauled him upright and supported him, so Linda could press a glass of water to his lips. He refused it; he wasn’t sure why. And then everything turned even more blurry.

***

As they travelled up in the elevator after they brought him back from the hospital, Lucifer leaned heavily against his brother. He despised how feeble he was. He detested everything about himself. He’d not even his pride left. He felt soiled, dirty… hopeless.

He staggered into the penthouse, with Amenadiel still guiding him; something was different, odd. His gaze latched onto the bar, and his anger pitched.

“I’m sorry, Luci,” Amenadiel was saying. “But we had to take the bottles away. The doctors said you were suffering from severe dehydration, which compounded the alcohol poisoning. There’s a real possibility that you could drink yourself to death, and after your encounter with the demon, that might not even mean returning to hell.”

“Oblivion would be a blessed relief.” Lucifer didn’t know what destroyed him more—the notion that the bottles were gone, or that he couldn’t avenge himself on Amenadiel by hurling his brother against the empty shelves, shattering them.

He looked away and saw _her_. Just standing there, as if she was real. The Detective. A beautiful, ghost-like figure, skin like a pearl, clad in dark mourning colours with her hair tumbling around her shoulders. It had to be a mirage, because _she_ was never coming back. That was clear enough. She’d seen his devil face, and she couldn’t forgive him for it any more than he ever truly could. Ironic, really, that she’d run from him just as he’d lost the damned thing, very possibly for good.

He blinked; his heartbeat palpitated, skittering and uneven. The mirage persisted, and her lips were moving. She seemed to be speaking, as was Amenadiel, but he’d forgotten how to listen again, or… Why must he be taunted so?

He tried to shove his brother away, but collapsed forward against him. Finally, hitting rock bottom, he disintegrated into paroxysms of humiliating tears. She broke him, killed him; only she could do that, and she wasn’t even here. She was gone forever, and with it, his will to go on, so it seemed. He didn’t even protest when Amenadiel, with an effortful grunt, scooped him up and carried him to his bed.

He wanted this to be over, because without her…

***

When she’d seen Lucifer, looking so ill and leaning against Amenadiel, she’d been beyond shocked. Linda had warned her, but nothing could’ve really prepared her. When he’d collapsed, her instinct had been to run to him, but something held her back.

Had her presence tipped him over the edge? He was already so sick, and she now understood she’d been the one who made him vulnerable, even before he lost his devil powers. She daren’t get too close, so she shrank back, farther away. He’d buried his face in Amenadiel’s shoulder, and he hadn’t looked again.

After Amenadiel had taken Lucifer to the bedroom, she’d sat down on the couch and stared into her lap. She felt… numbed. She’d tried to be prepared for the worst, and discovering that Lucifer wasn’t dead had buoyed her, obviously. But his suffering was unbearable. She’d hardly even registered when Linda, who’d come in with Lucifer and Amenadiel, sat down near her.

“Chloe? How are you doing?”

“Badly,” she said. “But I’ll be okay. Lucifer, is he…”

She didn’t finish her question. It was pretty damned obvious Lucifer was far from okay.

“I think it’s a good thing you’ve come back,” said Linda. She drew a deep breath. “Thank you, Chloe. Amenadiel and I, we’ve been struggling, I think. We need your support, and Lucifer—”

“What if I make him worse?” blurted Chloe. “Linda, I’m sorry… It’s all so much to take in. I don’t know what to think, what to do for the best.”

“Tell me about it!” Linda puffed out her cheeks. “When I first learned the truth about Lucifer, I freaked out, and what you did, leaving the country—” She raised both hands in emphasis "—totally understandable. I’m here for you, ready to listen.” She proffered a brittle smile. “At least we can now be absolutely honest with each other. All of us.”

Chloe blinked, getting her head around what Linda had just said. Linda believed she was still worrying about Lucifer’s true identity, his devil face, and Chloe suddenly wanted to snap her head off for thinking her so selfish and trivial. Although, in many ways, that was exactly what she, Chloe, deserved. Besides, Linda looked haggard with worry. She and Amenadiel probably hadn’t slept much the last couple of nights, what with Lucifer being in hospital and so sick.

And the truth grew clearer and clearer.

Lucifer’s devil identity _was_ a lot to take in, and she’d still a little way to go… and it didn’t matter one iota. She’d come back because she was worried about him, and because she couldn’t abide the notion of a life without him. To some extent, she’d already dealt with the whole devil face thing. She _was_ ready to move on.

“Chloe?” Linda was leaning forward, scrutinizing her. “You sure you’re okay. You look nearly as spaced out as Lucifer has been lately. Jet-lag, huh?”

“I’m fine,” she affirmed, and she realized she was. Her friend was sick, and he was in the next room. Though she would take care in case her presence harmed him further, she _had_ to go to him. Just in case there was something, anything, she could do.

So, she did.

Lucifer lay on the bed on top of the glossy covers, curled on his side. Amenadiel leaned over him, holding his hand, stroking his hair. Lucifer’s eyes were closed, and he looked peaceful. Worryingly so. “Luci,” Amenadiel, was whispering. “Please… stay with me.”

Chloe’s alarm spiked, shadowed by an avalanche of guilt. “Amenadiel, what going on? Is this… because I’ve come back? Should I go?”

“I don’t know.” Ameandiel’s tone was shot through with anguish, and he clutched Lucifer’s hand tighter. “I’m not my Father and I’m not a doctor. He’s just… gone quiet and limp. I don’t know what, but something’s changed. I’m scared for him, Chloe.”

What remained of Chloe’s rational mind told her to run, to get out of there, to head back to her apartment. Maybe even get right out of town again, because if her being here was hurting him, killing him even, it was the obvious path to take. On the other hand, perhaps Lucifer’s death would be a mercy, releasing him from this ailing and apparently human body, sending him back to wreak havoc as the Lord of Hell. Then he could escape to LA as ever, and be the fun, reckless Lucifer she loved … or maybe not. Amenadiel’s grief and terror scared her, as if he knew Lucifer’s departure could be more final than that.

Either way, part of her yearned to stay a moment longer. Perhaps a very selfish fragment, but also a deeply instinctual one that she couldn’t deny; after all, Amenadiel himself had told her she and Lucifer were somehow intrinsically linked. Tears blurred her eyes, but the indecision that muddied her mind cleared. She must follow her heart. She must confess the boundless truth that she’d veiled from them both for far too long.

Amenadiel regarded her warily as she approached the bed, yet shifted so she could sit down beside his brother. She took Lucifer’s hand, pressed his worryingly cool fingers to her lips, and kissed them.

She put his hand down gently and touched his face. “Lucifer,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I ran when I saw your face, I’m so, so sorry, and… I-I love you. Please don’t leave.”

Lucifer opened his eyes, just the merest crack. His gaze, shockingly vital, still seared to her core. She recoiled in startled pleasure, and he slowly smiled. She heard Amenadiel gasp, as Lucifer pushed himself up on one elbow, shaking his head and fluffing his hair as if he’d just woken up from a quick catnap.

“Hello, Detective,” he said. He narrowed his eyes again, amusedly suspicious this time, even as joy flooded her heart. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? I thought you were supposed to make me vulnerable, not fix me, and… oh… oh _great_! Just what I bloody wanted. This is becoming highly embarrassing.”

Lucifer’s wings exploded behind him, projecting him upright and cracking the windowpane for good measure. At the same instant, the sun came out, beams streaming through the glass and setting his pure-white feathers sparkling as brightly as his delighted grin.

He was… _fine_.

It was all so absurd and unbelievable, wonderful and inexplicable. Chloe laughed with a girlish abandonment she’d rarely known for decades and tumbled forward into his opened arms. She found herself wrapped in an all-encompassing cocoon of powerful limbs and softly caressing feathers, as all the still unanswered questions melted away. When she peeped up at him, a strange part of her actually yearned to see his devil face again. Just so she could accept him and tell him that she cherished _all_ of him; he was so beloved to her and she’d missed him so much.

If just for a moment, everything was perfect.


	12. Epilogue

_The following evening_

Chloe drew up outside Lucifer’s house in the Hollywood Hills, and paused a moment before getting out. The front door was ajar, Lucifer’s corvette the only other car in the drive. They were alone for the first time in what seemed like an age. Even before she’d seen his devil face and fled, she couldn’t remember the last time it’d been just her and Lucifer. They’d always been surrounded by people, at a crime scene, or in the precinct. She’d been alone with Pierce far more in those months.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel, her jaw clamped tight. She’d no idea how this was going to go. After his “miraculous” recovery yesterday, Lucifer had reverted fast to being Lucifer, flippantly mocking their frantic worry. He’d even demonstrated his devilish powers by booting poor Amenadiel across the room. And, after he’d released her from that wonderful embrace on the bed after he’d healed, he’d scarce looked _her_ in the eye.

She was anxious again, of course she was, not least because Lucifer seemed wary of her.

She snatched a fortifying breath, cleared her mind of as much clutter as she could, and made her way into the house. After a moment scanning the plush interior, she spotted him standing at the far corner of his infinity pool, smoking a cigarette.

“Hey,” she said, pausing at the glass doors, clinging to the frame as she had the steering wheel.

“Detective.” As he acknowledged her, he very almost smiled.

“You, uh, wanted to see me?” asked Chloe. Hmm, this was awkward. Despite her apprehension, she hadn’t been expecting awkward, somehow.

“I did.” He stubbed his cigarette into his palm, then hissed with pain, opening and closing his fingers.

“Lucifer, no!” She wanted to run to him. The sharp look he shot her kept her at bay, as did her remembrance that he only hurt at all, at least usually, because she was near him. “Is that why you wanted to see me? To see if I still made you vulnerable?”

“Not really,” he said lightly. “Although I _was_ curious. Amenadiel’s latest theory is that when you came back yesterday, you made me want to live, so I did—he’s desperately proud of his abracadabra “angels self-actualize” philosophy.”

“Uh, okay,” said Chloe, not quite comprehending.

“I don’t buy it, though,” said Lucifer. “Don’t get me wrong. Seeing you was—and is—a delight. But my miracle recovery was all Dad again, playing his little games with us. And that’s why I asked you here.”

“Okay,” said Chloe, actually wishing to know more about Amenadiel’s theory, then chastising herself for it. She couldn’t accept that Lucifer had been pining himself to death over her, that was… no, too much. Too arrogant of her. “I’m listening.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but somebody has to. I wanted to apologize for my Father’s atrocious treatment of you.” He heaved a sigh so heavy, the pool seemed to ripple with it. “When I first learned that Dad put you in my path, I was angry. I felt manipulated. I even blamed you a little, although it occurred to me soon enough that you were just another pawn in his shenanigans. But his use of you of late, in this whole affair… Frankly, it’s beyond the pale. One moment you can hurt me. Then some demon steals my powers, rendering only _you_ able to kill it. Then yesterday, only _you_ can save me from… whatever. I mean, bloody hell! And why could you smell the demon? Maze said that was just _weird_.” He laughed ruefully, and she nearly did too, if just to break the tension. His next words were deadly grave. “Detective, I want you to know, there is absolutely no compunction for you to ever come near me again.”

“Why would I not want to come near you?” On instinct, Chloe skirted around the pool toward him. “I just want things to be…”

“You want things to be as they were? For us to work together again?” Lucifer laughed toward the bright pink the horizon. “You know that can never be, as much as I do. You saw my face. You know how terrible I really am. You saw the truth, and you ran to the other side of the world, spoke to the Vatican, probably even toyed with a plot to send me back to Hell, eh? Don’t worry, it would only be natural. I’m sorry you had to find out as you did, and I understand that you could never, ever wish to be my partner like bef—"

“Lucifer, please don’t do this.” Now standing in front of him, Chloe sliced her hand up, bidding his silence. He looked at her, puzzled, then returned his attention to his dropped cigarette, which he grinded beneath his shoe.

“It’s fine, I under—”

“You clearly don’t,” said Chloe, edging a little closer. She touched his arm, and his gaze cut into her like a cheese-wire. “If I realized anything lately, it’s that I just don’t care—”

“That’s understandable.” He shrugged, looking away again.

“Lucifer, let me finish. I don’t care whether your Father is manipulating us or not. I _do_ care that your life and mine are somehow intrinsically linked, and about how powerfully I can affect you, but that’s not what really matters either. Because what I feel _here_.” She pressed her palm to her heart. “That’s real, and that’s mine. And yours, if you want it, as your friend and… partner, for as long as you want me.”

He offered a thin smile. “You really are lovely, Chloe,” he said. “But I believe you’re conveniently forgetting who you’re talking to.”

Flames ripped across his cheeks, transforming his skin into a rippled mass of scarlet, out of which his eyes flashed a lurid red, brighter than the sinking sun. Chloe’s heartbeat skittered, and she concentrated on keeping her expression as placid as she could.

Yet her treacherous heart swelled with so much affection it betrayed her. Tears blurred her vision, but she kept her unswerving attention on Lucifer. She saw this time, he was still very much _him_. His rubicund irises brimmed with emotion; with pain and expectation of more pain. He went to look away. She very gently touched his cheek, urging him to meet her eye.

“I spent a long time wondering if I should hate you,” said Chloe. “And I realized I never could. That it was hateful of me even to consider it. You’ve always been honest with me. And then, quite simply, I realized I couldn’t live without you—”

“But you couldn’t live with _this_?” His hand covered the one she rested on his cheek, his touch feather-light. “Remember, you were fine with the supernatural, the angel wings, even the demon baddies, but not _this_.”

“We’ve been through so much,” she said. “But I came back not because I had to or I needed to. I came back because I wanted to. And I’m not saying we don’t have issues, and that either of us are not hurting. Because Lucifer, I can see now just how badly you’ve been hurt and I'm sorry I got it all so wrong… and I am absolutely fine with _you._ ”

She took his face in both her hands, raised herself up onto tiptoes, and kissed him. He turned rigid as steel beneath her touch, but she kept kissing his dry lips, gently caressing him, and with a quiet moan, he softened and opened up to her. His arms slid around her, crushing her close. When he at last kissed her back, she was the one who melted; she knew nothing beyond the places where their bodies touched, the exquisite fusion of intensity and heat as their kiss wound on.

She didn’t recall when she closed her eyes, but when she opened them again, she was kissing the Lucifer she was most familiar with, his devil face vanished. Her palms brushed against the roughness of his neat stubble, as they finally, reluctantly, broke apart—from the kiss but not their embrace.

“I think you’ve gone quite mad, Detective. Must’ve been all that Italian wine.” There was hope as well as laughter in his voice as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers.

“No,” she said, laughing with him. “For the first time in an age, I feel almost entirely sane. Everything makes sense now, Lucifer. You make sense.”

“Do _we_ make any sense?”

She pondered that a second. He bit his wonderfully kiss-swollen bottom lip, pondering with her. “Let’s see,” she said.

She pulled him down into another kiss, while the last light of the sunset slid far too rapidly across the pool. Then, together, they went inside.


End file.
